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Last poem from old Moleskin

The sky is clearing but mist clings

            In pockets there between the trees

            Greying banks across dull leas

From where a single blackbird sings.

You are not here and while I try

            To write some more amusing lines

            Your absence sours the coming rhymes

And all's reduced to melancholy.

This sunset should simply breed

            Romantic warmth before the night

            Returns to shatter all delight

And solitude aches out the need

For you

Brian Hick November 2011

©Sally Hick 14.12.23