Poem: Obscure Melancholy

I often think to a Christmas long ago
Sitting at the adult table with a runner of gold
Two glasses in and reclined in my chair
Listening to voices that soon wouldn’t be there
The deep hold of etherness seizing me
That some Christmas will be the last Christmas

Poem: There She Waits as the Wind Gently Cries

A girl in red stands on hillside
as the wind gently cries
it blows drying her tears
as the wind gently cries

She watches for boats at sea
as the wind gently cries
watching for a single ship
as the wind gently cries

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