I stood waiting, looking through <br />the glass darkly, searching down that <br />lane, edged with dry stone walls <br />Walls that made me shiver., <br />as time ushered time, slowly. <br /> <br />On quiet nights, the sheep ambled <br />on top of those walls, <br />the muffled clatter of loose stones <br />breaking my sleep, <br />sounding like thieves or murderers <br />preparing to enter my little cottage <br />on that Welsh mountain, below me. <br /> <br />On stormy nights the old bell <br />at the cottage door would sound, <br />and I stood, cold, uncomforted, <br />with bread knife and scythe under my bed <br />as that old bell rang itself, ghostly. <br /> <br />I stood waiting and looking through the glass <br />Until, when the light of day had gone, <br />(I don't recall the moment precisely) <br />and the window glass had become looking glass, <br />I no longer saw love being invoked easily. <br />I saw only my reflection, looking back, patiently.<br /><br />Sailing to windward<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dry-stone-walls/
