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Like Rain
I stood today on that ironwork footbridge
over the White Cart and its blooming banks.
Your river was running the wrong way again
around the old village and under the stars
down by the ruins under blue skies
through purples and yellows and lilacs.
and the sun was the sun of a June too long flown
and your bridge was an archway made of stone,
It was nowhere near Paisley or these bass-beat days,
yet only a blink or a heartbeat away.
I saw you between those two lochs we know so well.
You stood on the arch there and looked east and west,
your eyes full of distance, and heart light with dreaming
that flooded the air of the dance hall
where I saw in your eyes what all young lovers seek
when we danced close and slow for the last time.
Too young on the scene then I saw it all too late.
Though graced by it there and remembering now
is more than enough, dear, I finally know it
as the archway retreats and the old town hall fades
and the riverside riches of Paisley impose
just only these few sweet reminders
in this town where we’re blind to each other once more
and where time, falls like rain through my fingers
July 2008
poem
by
Jim Hogg
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