Leaving Empire
And oh the wind
Of this now quiet place
Where loves sleep
And the windows gently
Clatter
.
Hoofbeats
From centuries past
Grind to a halt
On the slippery rock
Of cobblestone
.
Things to take with us
Into the calling wind
As we leave the doors banging
Behind us
In the rhythm of quick heartbeats
.
Passion and poetry
The worn stone of the step
The breath of tired horses
Whinnying to the sky
.
Mice of a thousand generations
Between the walls,
Cats in waiting below the stairs
The old Tawny owl silhouetted
On the wrought iron gate
I can almost hear what the trees are saying
.