The Whispering of the Wind


The Whispering of the Wind

I stand at the cob-webbed, ancient windows

The wind blows down from mountains of the moon

Starlight is gently etched amongst the leaves

Shifts in perception shatter the mirror to splinters

And in this magic space, he disappears

In the frozen silence, it seems he fades forever

But it feels a gentle loss

The precious moments, held tightly in my hand

The bracken cracks under his feet

The mirror is down, the reflection is gone

Yet the moment never ends

Waves of hills flow toward the horizon

His shadow falls across the window

Then turning slowly, he walks away

Leaving the touch of winter in my soul

And the whispering, of the wind

© Ann Bagnall 2015.

Image courtesy of http://2photo.ru/uploads/posts/4268/20070924/leonid_tishkov_i_boris_bendikov/24_09_2007_0209303001190637954_leonid_tishkov_i_boris_bendikov.jpg

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