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by Annie Author IconMail Icon
Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Death · #1115592
Created for the In Depth Emotions contest
It is always cold, here, in this place
Where I can never, quite, see your face.
I keep looking, just one glance
Would, maybe, give me another chance.

All I see, when I look around,
Is unmoving dirt. Cold, hard, ground.
Why can't I see you? Aren't you there?
All I can do, is sit and stare.

I see flowers, withered and dead,
All around me, above your head.
At least I think your head is there,
All I can do, is sit and stare.

Our friend Jane was here today.
I don't know why but she couldn't stay.
Only yesterday we brought you here.
Why did she say it had been a year?

I am talking, do you hear?
My words just echo in my ear.
Please, don't whisper quite so low
I can't hear you for all the snow.

It falls in piles, enough to cover
The grave that holds my sweet lover.
The snow reminds me of that year
When you and I were sitting here.

Next to you, sleeping sound,
Our infant son, 'neath the same hard ground.
It is always cold, here, in this spot.
The birds fly home, but I, can not.

© Copyright 2006 Annie (vlannie at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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