First frost,
The bed grows cold
Without you.
Full moon,
Freezing beneath
Your blanket of silence.
Springtime thaw,
Only a distant promise.

sharp, the bare branches
inflicting a mortal wound
where they meet the sky,
crimson glow of dying  sun
bleeds upon the horizon.

The door is shaken awake by the lonely wind
Gently swinging to and fro,
Disturbing creatures still living within
The old sod house on a hill.
Windows were broken out long ago
And now stare blindly at scenes
Stolen away with memory
Along with forgotten dreams.
The winds of time hold an echo
of laughter no longer heard
Who lived there, I will never know.
The footprints having been laid to rest,
Beg to remain undisturbed.

My heart is yearning to follow the sun
Westward o'er a golden sea
Upon a raft made of my memories.
I will anchor there when day is done
On my beloved homes  distant shore
And those I love will welcome me once more.
But words that I'd been saving now are gone
scattered like rose petals on far streets,
Then what is left to spread beneath their feet?
Or it may be I've been away to long
And there is nothing more for me to see
And only ghosts are left to welcome me.