“Questions?”
Why are you so far away?
What ails you?
Where have all our children gone?
Are there pewter tulips?
A joy from the past keeps shaded,
stays alive,
wrings jewels and nips from bent towels.
Weather may come to cast,
and yet this ailing is a missing you,
a supplanted grove,
a cool and warm desire
is what ails you,
a tinker box which rubs the dock
the green bottle of ale for you
because the forgotten is heartbroken
but the joy is safe.
nicholauspatnaude 
Leave a Reply