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In Praise
An Original Poem by JB. Stobbart
We undertake a pilgrimage
to a transcriber of the heart,
mile upon mile drags, then speeds by —
we stand in your cradle of worlds
where Henchard and Tess are born,
where woodlands are strength and wealth:
and between an avenue of trees
and a late conservatory,
her narrow life, shaded by sorrow,
between the view over the garden
and four walls still humming,
a thousand poems of love undone,
a syntax torn apart by tomorrows,
a powdered plume of long-legged moths:
in this place, at this time, on this earth,
and little did I know, busy with days,
that although poetry is praise of life,
its pilgrimage remakes us:
our steps, the humming in that room,
walking the avenue of trees — these
are Great Things set against our loss.
© JB. Stobbart - September 2020
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