the piper

Slowly, intuitively,
we all fell silent,
as the piper
entered the room.
A velvet hush
soon to be broken
by wave upon wave
of laments, jigs,
reels and
hornpipes.
Even the open fire
seemed to be drawn
towards the music,
as if by
an unseen breath.
Across the crowded room,
a face of
bewildering and
startled beauty,
a Traveller face,
stared into
the sounds,
images
outside the window,
of candles within,
behind her
glowed.
Such a night
is for
the
remembering.



Poetry by Peter Humphreys
Read 1117 times
Written on 2007-03-19 at 14:17

Tags Ireland  Music  Light 

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Mark J. Wood
It could have been anywhere until you said "the" remembering: then I was in Ireland. Who needs the ferry when there's a Peter Humphreys about. I can taste the whiskey.
2007-03-23


penfold18
Being a lover of the pipes I was drawn to this and was not disappointed you have created wonderful images in this scene a pleasure to read.
2007-03-19


salem
nice text
bravo
2007-03-19