Beauty, now, has no significance;
The sky is melancholy grey,
The sea, a sullen, ceaseless dance
Of mere waste.
Now, at this quiet end of day,
The slow and lonely time of after,
The scenes and sounds I knew before,
(Strange and wonderful were they),
Are meaningless, as, from the shore,
Drift echoes of pathetic laughter.
Lonely sounds now sway the air,
Whispering of what we were.
Shadowed sands stretch dimly far,
Cold appears the first faint star.
The panorama seems
To be the fragments of distorted dreams.
Screaming seagulls wheel and fly,
And, there, beyond the hill, a searchlight’s beams
With certain fingers touch the sky.
Other Pieces by my Father, Namur King:
To Be As One With God
Today has never been before
Ode To A Snowdrop During Wartime
ST. PAUL'S (LONDON MAY 11th 1941)
Ode to the Full Moon during an “Alert”, 1942
Ode to Goldie, the Golden Eagle on its 10th Day of Freedom
War & Peace
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