Under the bare bones of the apple tree
A frigidity swept over me
A coolness that bore me to the bone,
The loss of a friend, the one I called home.
As winter ravens cackled in grey British skies
And white snow-filled clouds burdened by
Ice tears formed in my eyes
As my feet followed the path of trodden earth
We used to walk in days of mirth.
On automatic pilot to the hard stone wall
Where keystones had scattered
Hand placed, they fall
At my small tired feet.
The smell of winter, old oak and pine
purvey into this empty mind.
Thinking of a world without a spring
Empty words, in my mind ring
As I search for reason
In this manic silent world