Conbrio
The Last Village |
In the snow laden lands of lost thoughts A village standing alone on the banks of a wide river Snow thick on the ice A landscape of pristine white Smoke curling upwards from wood stoves In an embrace of life as it used to be When people were of the village And life was simple pleasures Crumbling houses and a memorial Broken to the glorious fallen now forgotten Empty stores The bookstore, the baker, the potter, the hairdresser All gone to the city or oblivion As the melting snow falls from an iron roof And the old people recount the tales Of olden days and old religion Revolutions and starvation And times swimming in the river A summer's day And the last village Slowly decaying into memories Copyright © March 24, 1999 Michael David Coffey |
