My sorrow, when she's not here with me,
These dark days of winter rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loved to walk, the withered path
Along the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stray
She talks and I am away with the mist:
She scares the birds away,
I'm glad her simple ways worsted gray
A silver light glisten now.
Yesterday I learnt to know
The love of bare December days.
She thinks I have no eyes to see
As she's moulding out there.
Copyright © Yvonne Livingstone-Kania | Year Posted 2014
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