I have lost my way
in the many chambers
of my sorrow
Quietly I entered
quietly I take my leave
Yet the waves still rise
and the wind follows me
I stand at the dark edge
on the brink of illusion
My petals falling
from my withered flowers
The bells are calling
and the clock marks the hours
In my longing for light
I reach for the moon
But she whispers to me
Too soon, too soon
© Ann Bagnall

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