Saturday, December 20, 2014


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
Shepherdess in the mist. A poem.
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
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.
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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