It's easier to admit to
a higher power, when you're higher
than the clouds. Something does it,
easily throwing a bulls eye of light
against their white caps below. My eyes
don't dart to it, they settle softly
into its faded blue center. Who
questions it, what you can't
know? I knew the snow of his hair
that's now ash. I knew it, but I can't
know the why, or the how of its
sudden change. Or the when I'll follow.
1 comment:
This poem is a beautiful expression of sadness.The loss of your friend George is palpable. The Christmas holiday period is a time when the sense of grief is even keener if that is possible.
I'm sorry for your loss Francesco
Your friend
Pellegrina
XX
Post a Comment