A poem for the Writer's Cramp. A walk through the forest with a long-lost friend.
|Pulling on her warmest boots, she made her way outside,|
her footfalls echoing lightly in the street. To her surprise;
the morning air was still, and quiet, as it is so wont to be;
When winter arrives and with it brings, the first signs of the freeze.
When she reached the nearby forest, she frowned,
She had not planned this course,
Crunching through fallen leaves, she found
Herself alone, no more.
She smiled and laughed, her plans forgot, and walked on
With her friend. Side by side they trod the path
She had not meant to take. They journeyed on,
And as they did, she soon began to speak.
“I’ve missed you so, my faithful friend, and even though I’ve tried
I could not help but wish you here, so I could say goodbye.
I wasn’t ready to let you go, you still belong with me,
And though it hurts my heart to do, I carry you with me.”
To this her friend gave no reply, but still she had her answer,
And so they walked together one last time, a woman and her shadow.
Her friend chased rabbits for a while, on that first day of winter,
But soon their day came to an end; it was time for her to go.
A flurry of leaves rose up around her,
A breeze caressed her cheek,
Her ghostly friend had left a gift;
A newfound sense of peace.
And as she made her way back home, she found herself compelled
To admit her grief was lighter now, though it was not dispelled
When she got home, she discovered, next to a cooling cup of coffee,
A scribbled note - her lover’s hand - “I’m in a rush, I’m sorry!”