Three swans taking flight
eastwards low over salt marsh -
you astride their backs
Imagination
is all I have left these days -
my memory fails
Nature reclaims you
white catafalques bear you home -
I wave sad farewell
Tides still ebb and flow
winds yet moan through slapping masts -
why does Earth not weep?
March 2023
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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