Wild Woman holds life to her
like a big buttery yellow moon,
sinking down behind the hill
as morning breaks,
rose-coloured,
over a still and silent
silver sea.
She knows it is gliding away,
yet, while it is here,
she holds onto the wonder
of its beauty,
to this present transformative moment,
to this present transformative moment,
and to all that is
- slowly and tenderly -
slipping and sliding
away.
Yes, it may be slipping and sliding away, but when we put that into words, it doesn't do that. It remains, even when we don't.
ReplyDeleteElizabeth
I can so much relate to this. You say what I mean.
ReplyDelete