March Winds
by Sharmagne Leland-St.John
...for Annie Jenkin

How wild was the wind
how deafening the thunder
as the storm took over.
No more walks
along the moor
until we see
what the end
of winter weather
has in store.

No more strolls
for Annie now.
she'll not hear the wind
sigh and sough,
nor the warble
of her feathered friends
along the trail,
never hear the current cry
along the sandy shore.

She has passed –
slipped through
the earthly veil
of no return.
Her silver ashes
now rest inside
a metal urn.
Later
to be scattered
in a wild wind.




 

Return to: