As once I held you –
Your face warmed by the setting sun
so that it brought out the evening in your eyes.
Wind gently blowing your hair as you laid your head on my arm
and closing my eyes I felt your warmth in their hold.
Leaves still whisper your name as I am chilled by the melancholy
of the trees swaying with shadows of memory
that I surrender to the solitude
- Of owl song.
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009
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