Shepherdess In The Mist
A Memorial Poem To Diaspora
His brown gnarled hands
Like rope twisted over tree roots
Embraced the warmth
Of the white teacup;
Its cream and tea clouds swirl
Like music in a cavern.
Seeking freedom
From his own life
And all his tomorrows
His grey eyes
Long for green valleys
Where she, like a gypsy moth
In white,
Chased falling stars in the rain.
Each dawn he walks the sheep
Past
The stone stacked walls
Where she wept her fair-well.
Again he stops-
A moment's pause to
Mourn lost yesterdays.
And find reasons
Between the lines of her words.
Someday
He will join her;
Sailing west
Over sunset burnished waves;
But the tea turns cold,
The fog becomes freezing rain,
And the sheep need to be
Brought home.
(c) Adron Dozat 2014
Thank you for visiting and reading my poem. I hope you enjoyed it and that it blessed your day.A Memorial Poem To Diaspora
His brown gnarled hands
Like rope twisted over tree roots
Embraced the warmth
Of the white teacup;
Its cream and tea clouds swirl
Like music in a cavern.
Seeking freedom
From his own life
And all his tomorrows
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| Shepherdess in the mist. A poem. |
Long for green valleys
Where she, like a gypsy moth
In white,
Chased falling stars in the rain.
Each dawn he walks the sheep
Past
The stone stacked walls
Where she wept her fair-well.
Again he stops-
A moment's pause to
Mourn lost yesterdays.
And find reasons
Between the lines of her words.
Someday
He will join her;
Sailing west
Over sunset burnished waves;
But the tea turns cold,
The fog becomes freezing rain,
And the sheep need to be
Brought home.
(c) Adron Dozat 2014
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(c) A.E. Dozat 12/20/14
