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
Spring and Leaving. Two Poems by Alison Ross