A SIMPLE PHRASE THAT TURNED INTO SOMETHING MORE
Her thoughts of sleep faded away like the last star on that early summer morning
when the last shafts of moonlight slip behind billows of white
awoken and walking among the wood
there was a fog within the birch tree’s hanging with verdant hue.
a pervading heaviness remains on the leafy blades only an inch higher than the dirt
gilded leaves hang heavy with dew upon the bleached boughs
on went she and north her journey took into mountains old and its corners dim
riding paths of hard packed clay leading to fields of heather and golden-rod
she was something that lay under the sun and felt it and did not want to be anything more.
© Antonia Dowling 2012