Pim Claridge

Life in the Scottish Borders, one stanza at a time

I Can Hear Her Sing

I can hear her singing as I pass,
the richness of her voice,..
the candles on the ends of ancient pews
flicker in the gusty draught
that creeps below the old wood door.
and shadows dance across the walls of stone
as if they hear the sweetness of her song.
the leaded windows lit with warmth
glow welcome to those who come
from encircling hills, bound in winter sleep
and frosted silver by the stars,
while guardian pines stand sentinel,
along the waters edge, where new ice gleams...

and now its spring, and many years have passed
but memories remain and call me home
to visit just once more, the glen where the
cuckoos haunting call lingers in the primrose air.
and as I pass the little church
I can hear her sing,
and the richness of her voice...