London Conversation

In a foreign city once again

You waved weekly in the night

The early sun of London morning

Burned the darkness with unanswered light

But morning found you crying

Waiting for a woman

Where she left you in an empty state of mind

Waiting not for her but for relief from passing time.

And a young friend talking softly

As the mist keeps tumbling down

But the woman waiting for him near

Stayed and told you of the peace that could be found

And a fallen heart was woken

In your tired waiting time

And you thought you might begin again

From all the ashes of your mind.

And though he used no poetry

His words are weaving songs

And the peace they were recalling

Were good roads that you might have walked along

And the skies you saw were all the same

Although his words were not your own

But the words and images you've spoken

Are the ashes from a peace you'd never known.