by Frank Regan
*
And I'm missing you.
The pain as real as the fingers of ice
That figure skate their way across the pond
In the failing afternoon light.
As real as the mothers and children laughing in the shadows
As they throw breadcrumbs for the birds,
Whose birdsong is just a mockery
Of happiness now long gone.
As real as the willows crying
Stranded far away from shelter
Out across the water shivering on the island
Where once you shivered at my touch.
As real as the rowing boat
With number seventeen in faded magenta
Amongst the peeling paint in need
Of a coat of blue paint when spring comes
And it takes to the water again.
YOU ARE READING
Winter Magic - a multi-author anthology of poetry and prose
DiversosAn anthology of winter magic-inspired poetry and prose, written by a number of talented authors.
