In the nuanced white
flowers blooming in winter
longing for the sun
the gentle caress of apricity
I linger here in melancholy
in the deathly quiet
where your voice used to be
like desolate winter tree
entreating the sun, to
‘please notice me’
I look for it upon my skin
to remind me how to feel
without breaking
slowly learning
the shape of hope
©Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 