"That day will come."

“That day will come.”
When the green fields sigh with their white cotton burden
And the stars turn again and once more to carry on
When the sun blazes forth bristling with the glare of scorched summers
And the winter dews settle for yet another round.
The wind circles and sets course for yet another circle
The lost girl looks upwards to the stormy skies
Her black braids swinging in the passion of the moment
Asking again for the freedom,
Asking again for the answer,
Asking again for the memories
That reply with conviction,
“That day will come.”

Does she remember that clash of thunder
And the old cold hearth where the ghosts were burnt alive?
In a towering column of smoke and mist swirling together
Blending and battling – as if they were one.
Fire and ice and that dry wet winter
That forgotten heap of everything dear.
And everything else that didn’t matter
Lost forever. To an empty soul.

“That day will come.”
When the grasses shine yellow in the sunshine.
And the stars sink down into a red-gold dawn.
When the sun yields to the grey-blue line of rainclouds
And the cart road is overrun by a mass of green life.
The wind sighs and gives way to the stillness before the storm
The ghost girl looks upwards into the smiling sunshine,
Her black braids swinging in the passion of the moment
Asking again and yet again for the freedom,
Asking again and yet again for the answer,
Asking again and yet again for the memories
That reply …. with conviction….
“That day will come.”