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by Susan Carberry

How silent is the world
As ghostly mists rise from the water
Swollen by the rain.
Is this Paradise? I ask
But the answer is lost
In the beating of a thousand dragonflies wings
Unyielding to the ferocity of the storm.

My faithful hound,
So petrified by the thunder now past,
Holds his head high,
His eyes seeing all,
His nose quivering at all that comes to it on the breeze
As the Heath begins to recover
From the pounding of a billion raindrops.

The sun comes out
And I think of those who cannot experience for themselves
The beauty and the tranquillity
Of this oasis in the heart of London;
And I count my blessings
That I have all the senses
To experience this Arcadia;
But still I want more
I want to feel it in my heart
Which is as hollow as the tree
Felled by the lightning
During the storm on Hampstead Heath.


Susan Carberry