Poetry Centre

Meeting Confucius

  • because the sound will not let me leave
    I find a bench to sit amongst it, mesmerised,
    when an old man, shuffling between son and wife,
    stops, caught by the bells, the spell

    bluebells
    light up winter grass

    take my seat, I say
    and we both, compelled somehow to do so,
    bow to one another 

    river runs
    to quiet sea

    by Jane Spiro