Day 30 - a fade away poem
1.
They come to join in with
the radio, set to Classic FM.
They must enjoy the trills
and stretched notes,
but I doubt they'd welcome
being conducted, orchestrated.
The thin-limbed trees attempt
balletic grace; the birds swing.
Garden harassed sufficiently
by my tools, I turn off the radio.
Gradually, they too fade away.
2.
On Wednesday nights, we sing
boisterously. The bits I love
start loud, forcing the hall
to accommodate us.
The other bits I love are
the endings, always curling through
the high wide space like smoke
as our voices fade, fade, fade
away ... (... kick back, kick back
to higher ground ...)
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