the loss that passes by
ghosts of smaller souls
cats, dogs even,
low, behind chairs
they would, if they could
touch me again
and I can't quite hold
the pastel smoke of their presence
just a glimmer, a tiny sentence
then their little music fades
ghosts of smaller souls
cats, dogs even,
low, behind chairs
they would, if they could
touch me again
and I can't quite hold
the pastel smoke of their presence
just a glimmer, a tiny sentence
then their little music fades
Beautiful poem, Lorna. I like this a lot: "...smoke of their presence /... a tiny sentence".
ReplyDeleteand ducks too.
ReplyDeleteYou bet...ducks too.
DeleteAww.... Lulu. I so get it.
ReplyDelete