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The Wind Writes Mary

A "brush" is drearily sweeping
Up the broken pieces of yesterday's life
Somewhere, the ink is dripping
Somewhere, the soul has no fire
And the wind, it cries, "Mary"

5 28
2022-12-06

'She sits & reckons up the dead & gone
With the last leaves for a love-rosary,
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily
Like a dim picture of the drowned past
In the hushed mind's mysterious far away' (Keats)

7 23
2021-05-20