Shelter

SHELTER By Carolyn V. Crawford AKA Rachel Dunkerque Against the wind she bent and swayed She fought to shield me from the pain, That burst along on gusty gales Then turned to angry, pelting rain. I tried to hear the scattered words, That bounced from roof, to pine, then oak, In search of open space like birds To soar beyond her heavy cloak. "Keep still," I screamed. "I wish to hear The secret that you hide so well." "Is it too dreadful for my ears?" "Is it so painful you can't tell?" She moaned and bowed, then shook her leaves And closed her cloak much tighter still. "I hold this pain, this hurt, this grief I hate to see it break your will." "But you insist so I'll let go This ache that threatens to split me wide It's yours to face, this is your woe I give you all that's hidden inside." With quivering leaves turned toward the sky As if to pray away the doom She trembled deep, then with a sigh Unleashed a ball of treacherous gloom. Such pain! It screamed about my head, Soared up then swirled and took its aim. I staggered, stumbled . . . sank in dread Collapsed as it devoured my frame. "You've lost. You've lost. He's gone away. He's gone. With him you are no more. Your life is gone, you're dead, you're gray Give up. Give in. He's gone for sure. "Those tears, so sad, slide down your face As you lay quaking in the sand But they won't change what passed this way They cannot take you from my hands." Though weak I forced my eyes to watch My soul float up beyond my reach Out past the tree far from the pouch That once tried hard to shelter me. Copyright © 2015 Carolyn Crawford