David Chadwick

Moores Valley 2015

The trees they grow high around this valley green.

The moon shines brightly; the air is cold and still.

We sit in the grip of a moment so deep,

That time is no longer moving.

 

Father oh Father, you’ve done us great wrong,

By taking the life of a man who was too young,

Leaving us here to weep and lament,

And to mourn, each day, his passing.

 

I dreamed that his melodies rose into the sky,

Like soft silver birds, hovering on high,

Then turning west, dissolving as they flew,

They faded into the starlight.

 

The trees they grow high around this valley green.

The moon shines brightly; the air is cold and still.

And we will begin to breathe once again,

When the wind once more starts a–blowing.