Wednesday, 14 October 2009

Shari from England


THE VOICE OF MY MOTHER

In the midst of autumn
Orange and red surround us all
Nature sweeps around this England
Through the cold air I hear you call

It's feint but sure
Sure but clear
"Shari look at me –
Look at me
I am here"

So I turn on my heels
To the voice that I knew
The voice that is here and now
A voice that my siblings should witness too.

But as I swish my cloak
And hoping to see the body of the voice
I'm disappointed to find
That once again I have no choice…

But to look through glass eyes
And see nothing like no other
You see I was hoping to find
My dear long dead mother

To hear her Welsh tones
To smell her sweet scent
Like she lived all this time
Like it was meant.

I walk despondently away
And feel nothing but despair
But I whisper in the wind
We will meet again one day - mon mere
Shari

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