Horizons

Horizons

By
Click here to see full detail of Author Margaret Montrose (Aphrodite)

FIG Short

HORIZONS

(Inspired by a vision from my little yacht-cockpit
lying anchored in the river on an Autumn Evening)

Oh Flight of Birds where’er go ye
So bravely flying?
You face The Light, your wings are dight
By sunset dying.

Oh Flight of Birds, clear sinking sun
Bright pinions paling;
I’d love to know where’re you go
High o’erhead sailing.

Oh Flight of Birds what makes you go
In Autumn wheeling?
Across the fields, along the wires,
Our wonder stealing?

Oh Flight of Birds what drives you on
When leaves die, fleeing?
For all your strife is there new life
Through mystic seeing?

Oh Flight of Birds does joy inspire
Your constant crying?
Is journey long, oh are you strong
enough for trying?

You cry aloud, your call is proud,
What has you soaring?
What’s wrong with here, delight of mere,
Fine Tidal Shoreing?

What see those eyes raised in the skies
Forever peering?
The view must show some gorgeous glow
To power your steering

Oh flight of birds what guides desire
To keep you straying?;
What mystic fire, what sights inspire
So no dismaying.

Are desert sands with verdant strands
Compass providing?
Has ancient lore sought self-same shore
Your passage guiding?

Oh Flight of Birds, your arrows decked
With sunset showing
The thin fine clouds, serene like shrouds
O’er your leaving flowing.

Such mystic things are your beating wings
Their pinions sighing;
You seem assured, are they inured
To journey’s trying?

What act of faith drives on that wraith
So surely heading?:
I would that I could make such try
To guide my treading.

Oh Flight of Birds you fade like day,
My heart’s left sighing;
Your vision bright’s no more in sight,
Like love lost lying.

Oh Flight of Birds what’s your Horizon
Your daring firing?
Without your wings we lack the things
For Hope inspiring.

Oh Splendid Birds please tell us all
Of what’s your knowing?;
You do those things which make you kings
What are you showing?

Ah, gorgeous Birds, you’ve told your story
By flying South to the sinking Sun;
To tell us the truth through all your glory
All must be Free before our day is done.

© Margaret Montrose
www.thegoldenpath.co.uk

The author behind the Margaret Montrose pseudonym earned his Higher National Diploma (HND) in Mech.Eng. in 1961, then spent ten years in industrial R&D, during which he restored, raced, and rallied the vintage 1920s cars that were his only transport. In 1971 he started his own company, driving his own production machine tools, which he built up to begin manufacturing his own award-winning patented products. Over the next forty years he restored and sailed an iconic 1905 yacht, restored and lived in two Tudor houses, and drove numerous pro bono associations, clubs, and campaigns, writing all they stood for. He stood for Parliament on an Out of EU ticket, for which he wrote all the material, achieving five times the UKIP vote. He started writing seriously in 2001 while building a thousand-book library as a voracious reader across The Classics. He’s a folk-dance musician, Bell-Ringer, an absolutely original creator in everything, and a person for whom The Cage is anathema and The High Hills are the only place to be.

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