A grey mist predicts the rain
the wind whispers
as melancholy falls on me
softly like blossoms
I see myself reflected
in the stillness of the lake
and like the shadows on the wall
it reveals things
once hidden in the light
rising from the ripples I find your face
painted in colours
that only my heart could perceive
in the years that separate
a small fragment of joy
a teardrop descends
the vision shatters like glass
and you are lost to me again
ever adrift in the aching void
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 