A tributary

In reply to Henry Kendall’s ‘Names Upon a Stone’

There’s still a rock-pool in a glen
beyond Narrara’s sands.
I don’t know if the leaves still feel
the same as in your hands.

I find the bush degraded some
by continental weeds.
And I can hear the roar of cars—
an endless whine indeed.

But yet the star-like moss grows thick
and yet your names appear
and one can sit upon that stone
by water fairly clear.

I don’t believe you stooped to trace
the names within a dream.
It seems to me you chiselled them—
the depth is more extreme.

I’m sorry that the old man died
and that you fled this place;
but grateful for your remnant verse—
it holds a certain grace.

For more pictures of this site, see my earlier post: wordflowerpoetry.wordpress.com/2021/06/15/names-upon-a-stone/