These past years I’ve lived in memories,
stitched together to fight the growing grey.
Thoughts and longings like light
dappled through the leaves of a forest.
Lost amongst the loam and brush
this fog settles, befuddles the mind.
Long forgotten branches grown
mossed beards shudder though
breath and wind hasn't blown.
Bereft of life and sun the growth
is sterile, dry and false.
These trails winding in and out
Stumbling through roots and shade
To bask in the warmth of her memory when found.
I have been the prodigal daughter,
Lost in the path home, for home was her
And she has gone.