In the winter mornings first light.
I see griefs in the early
clouds of the day.
They are sad and always misty grey.
A thermal from a sun belonging
to happier times
drifts them into the distance
like passing clouds.
Always slowly so very slowly.
They visit me like lost doves
singing their sadness.
like a tune I have half forgotten.
I feel them on my shoulders
Cooing their tears
Like the hue of the
shades of fading memory.