Outstanding Piece by a beautiful writer…
i miss you!
The world shrinks, a wizened apple
colour of ditch water,
and even the owls hunt afar.
Will you still be here
when the blossom returns,
and the cold is chased by the rising sun ?
Or will you have shrunk into the past
like the empty walnut shells
and chestnut husks
that litter the damp grass?
Listen to the east wind in the branches
and tell me if their song of the icy steppes
will still trot in your head
when the lilting melody of the south
lulls the day to sleep.
I see the white hair
of the children of the mist
and hear their laughter,
though the world is ending,
and the tide will ebb no more.
Hold tight to my hands,
let us not sink into the dark alone.