I know now that nothing is mine
for we were just unwritten pages
and disappearing ink
now only whispers and the soft winds
raised by beating wings
fill the hollow nights
darkness, like a clinging vine
surrounds me in my sorrow
there is a strange serenity
here at the edges of hollow
alone on an empty stage
as warm winds call to the swallow
I ache to fly free from my cage
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 