|
| |
The Grief I Feel is of Another Kind
The grief I feel is of another kind
Sweeter than holy water
A deeper breath than moorland air to find
The black of midnight, not—
Of monstrous seas, but—
Of restful night, donated cloak
From a kindly gentleman to wear
Wrapped in coolest starlight, safe
Astride a destrier — galloping to water
Molted feather — fortuitously found
New flight, gentle wind in gossamer sail.
Creeping tendrils — nettles wind around
Sentries of roses — silken petal rounds
Shower the lily casket — topped by pearly crown.
I know my grief is not the universal kind
But something softer than the norm
Welcome as a friend, I usher in my grief
And death, his brother, dressed in angel white
Scythe to call its sleepers — lowered in greeting bow.
Farewell, Annie
Newcomer to the under-realm.
With no card of sympathy
Or hearse to see you off
In lonely grief you leave your final hurt.
But, relief of death follows me, ebony puppy
Nipping at my heels, my little black dog
Helps my heart to heal.
Copyright ©
Alice Reynolds
|
|