Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
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In the high silence
above our house
in the hills, I catch
a whisper of sweet
songs and names
half-forgotten by
the hurried years;
below in the valley,
the silver river
flickers like a candle,
in the light of the sun,
on your birthday.
Sing her among the heather
and the highlands;
clothe the choir in black lace,
take down the signpost,
find our way in the mist.