Edwin Brock

(19 October 1927 – 7 September 1997 / Dulwich / London / England)

These Old Songs - Poem by Edwin Brock

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grow in the mind,
their rhymes chiming endlessly
with the sound of feet walking
or rain falling or being taken up
by garden birds, one line at a time.

Landmarks, favourite stones,
reminders of moments
that only history makes important,
we hum them down to immortality

so that now they fence us in
with the faces of lost opportunities,
and all the moons and Junes that ever were
are meadow-larking above England.


Comments about These Old Songs by Edwin Brock

  • Bernard F. Asuncion (1/11/2017 5:20:00 PM)


    Reminds me of the song THE OLD SONG sung by both DAVID POMERANZ and BARRY MANILOW+++++++++++ (Report) Reply

    1 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
  • Muzahidul Reza (1/11/2017 12:41:00 PM)


    grow in the mind,
    their rhymes chiming endlessly
    with the sound of feet walking
    or rain falling or being taken up
    by garden birds, one line at a time.
    (Report) Reply

  • Anil Kumar Panda (1/11/2017 10:50:00 AM)


    Old is always appreciated and missed for its simplicity and purity. Nice poem and Thanks for sharing. (Report) Reply

  • (1/11/2017 10:30:00 AM)


    Simply superb poem relating to every one's experience and a reiteration that old is gold. Thanks for sharing it here. (Report) Reply

  • Tom Allport (1/11/2017 4:15:00 AM)

    tom allport
    a poem that sounds to improbable to be true? nice write though. (Report) Reply

  • Edward Kofi Louis (1/11/2017 3:39:00 AM)

    Fence
    The mind! Thanks for sharing this poem with us. (Report) Reply

Read all 6 comments »



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Read poems about / on: history, rain, lost, time



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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