Spring and Leaving. Two Poems by Alison Ross


Wild hare field whispers,
lustrous rimed peeping moon sips 
Hawthorn scented stars


There is a heaviness in the air
that smells of sorrow
and speaks of leaving.

Ashes drift in flurries across my heart
and the dust of departure 
lies heavy on my tongue.

The light of your presence dies
as the world shifts from technicolour 
into darkness.

The John Muir Trust

About the contributor

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