Walls Poem by Mari Martin

I am alone once more
sitting by the lake
filled with the tears of my heart.
I have been here before, long ago
when it's waters were not so high.
It's edges did not cover much land.

The willows weep beside the water.
Their branches low, swaying in the breeze
making ripples
as their leaves gently touch the surface.
The stars are hidden by misty clouds
that cross the moon
leaving only shadows
cast across the lake.

The night birds sing a melody
born of my heart.
It echoes through the valleys
like a whisper
almost not heard, more felt.
Is it a sadness they sing
answered only by silence?
My heart cries out in the silence.
No answer comes.

Slowly, with but a trace of movement,
the mender of walls begins his work,
One layer at a time,
Ever so gently replacing the stones
now scattered around me.
Inch by inch he builds.

A craftsman of solitude is he.
No words spoken, just mending does he do.
Each time he builds the walls
his mortar is stronger.
I feel it enclosing around my heart,
this wall he gently replaces.
The touch of his hands a comfort.

The night winds now come
blowing across the lake
whose waters are warm
pushing waves to the shore.
His work finished,
the mender departs
leaving no trace of foot print,
no evidence of his being here.

I am alone once more
sitting by the lake
letting my tears flow
over the walls
like a waterfall.