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Proserpine

Of all the months I've come to hate September

For once moe it took you away from me,

Leaving winter's never ending scree

Of memories I'd rather not remember.

A pomegranate seed - a thing so small

It's difficult to realise the harm

It caused, so that your child's warmth and charm

With autumn's peace, were banished for us all.

Here I wait, counting the days until

The ice recedes and snowdrops push their heads

Up through the wasted weeds and flower beds,

The sun begins to warm not just to light,

The moon sits softer as I watch the night

Then, you are here again, and all is well.

Dr Brian Hick summer 2011

©copyright Sally Hick 28.7.23