Monday, March 26, 2018

On Piste



The rain fell softly,
Walking on the softness of pine,
Hearing the wind roll across the summit,
Walking in open spaces,
The lone jay flew overhead,
As I thought of your warmth.

Waling against the cold wind,
Snowflakes now falling,
Alone on grey rock,
Surrounded by the fires of memory,
The elixir of the past.





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