You once sat on my wall and talked to me;
I was irked because you spoiled my silly game.
The tender age of twelve was what I'd be.
Aged thirteen and I just don't feel the same.
Serene and reflective the old woman sits
warming her legs by the fire.
Calm and objective, her mem'ry selective,
past lovers and wanton desire.
Diagonal snow obliterating clear blue sky,
A cold, white duvet softening our footfalls.
Cushioned silence encompasses the path; our senses.
Trees link arms, jealously guarding the carpet
A cold, damp night, no cheerful home.
Fingerless gloves clothe frozen hands.
Filled with abjection at life's rejection, society's revulsion.
What brought him to this? What turn of Fate?
I am a divorced mother of two adult sons and nanna to a lovely grandson. I have been writing for eighteen years seriously - many before that playing at it - since becoming ill with M.E. I have written numerous poems, six novels and a memoir. All books are available from
http: //www.feedaread.com/search/books.aspx? phrase=sherrie%20lowe
and all can be downloaded from Amazon at
http: //www.amazon.co.uk/s/ref=nb_sb_noss? url=node=341689031&field-keywords=sherrie+lowe