Poem: A Sad Piper

A sad piper

played his pipes across my heart;

They were reedy pipes that played,

playing the wind

droning the bees

rocking the river

along those dark-spined banks

overgrown;

What hand was it, that that played

this sad-sweet song?

I stared along the ripple that rose towards me

as some bird trilled, evidently in a weird hallucination

caused by the stifling heat of the naked sun;

It was motionless, his hand;

silent, his voice, in cold candour

and a shivering secrecy;

I didn't blink-

nor did the music cease. . .

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* from the collection A Sad Piper, 1994

Omer Tarin