Waiting

Magdalen’s grounds
are full of life,
full of space.
Space, which is mown
and cleared,
tended and enclosed,
its waterways unchoked,
brown and sparkling clear.
It is home to ducks
and coots,
to dragonflies and deer.

Grass and paths and gates
and streams
and yesterday’s undergraduates
are waiting.
Not for the return of the past
nor the coming of an awaited future.
The past once gone
is a steadily fading photograph.
The future, once conceived,
is never as imagined.

No. They wait
for someone
with an empty heart
to play his part
without reluctance
or reserve;
to acknowledge
all this labour
of hand and eye
and the genius of the green and living.
To see
and bless
it all
and say, “Yes!”

Then it can all begin,
the breathing out of being,
the eternal sigh,
the letting go at last
and surrender
to the sleep
of not being planned,
of not having to remember,
of not having to hold apart
future and past.

Of being at peace again.