By Sue Gerrard
As lockdown winter approaches and the sun
pulls down its shutters earlier and earlier each night,
I wonder what shapes the trees will take in
the dimming twilight. In early evening mist would
they be bare limbed, open armed, wind kissed,
welcoming and giving comfort in the cold?
Or would their leaf stubbled boughs, gnarled
and old strike down to grab me and turn me over?
Would the autumn air be mellow and filled with
plaintive birdsong that tells us autumn is retreating?
Or would the air be quiet, conversation isolated
within the owners’ ears, their lives shuttered
away as day after day is stolen from them
by the pervading silence of separation?
The leaves turn as the virgin white pages
of my diary turn...
Empty, my plans unmade, my future uncertain
and I wonder if it will snow before
this lockdown winter comes.
Categories: Featured Poems from Our Subscribers