Thursday, May 27, 2010


The dawn of your arrival-
Was cold, the spotted daffodils grew
On the windowsill.

Tired of reading by the window,
I got up and surveyed the mantel.
A picture of my godfather;
An old coin from England, 1928.

The books were faded and dusty.
I was alone in this harsh winter,
The summary of your years were behind you.

The light was faded and new.
Dust behind us grew softly;
The wind fluttered in the breeze.
War was a light thing,
Made of sauce and mixed with
Nothing makes me feel better,
Not even death-
Long and faded,
Death was he.

You entered through the door.

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