With winters silent shroud the forest waits
for formless foggy breath to evanesce...

Today is monochromatic
and shrouded in mist I am...

Such a small thing, a ring
A thing that could so easily be lost...

I can still feel the chalk dust
as it clogs my nose and infiltrates...

Grey skies and gathering clouds
dampen the brightest of spirits...

The wheels on the school bus
just stopped going round...

In want I feel the thrill of blood
drip down my length...

Yearning for the artists hand
they lie fallow and incomplete...

Isn’t it strange
how time can twist and change...

Sunrise shining 'cross the oceans swell
lights upon the shingles...

Thy ruby richness beckons me
within the crystal waiting there...

There’s a space now in the corner
where you used to sit and knit...