senseless seems
the passing fever –
warm then cold again
as weavers weave
to fields already brown
a yearning soon forgotten –
else beauty turn away
to find the blooms
though hidden there
lost within the grey –
daisy with the weaper

cinderella
surely passed this way

a mile or two
to wander back –
o’er paths we meant to follow
kept for this a map –
the best to find
when once before encountered love
along these lowly backroads
remembered how we sat
here in the shade

and spoke with words unspoken
eyes a story told
berries ripened faster
than our truth –
the trees forgot to tell us
one day we’d understand
of lifetimes left
in moments here –
drying in the sun