Drifting particles of mist
drifting
drifting across the window pane
through fresh leaves of birch
over the greenhouse
attaching itself to the glass
making silver shapes on the grass
drifting in clouds of dim dull grey
what a damp day in the dark

a morning in mourning
so sadly opaque
that's why I'm awake with a gentle headache
but the air's good to breathe
so I'll wait to get up
when the clock reaches seven
I'll drift about in my room
getting dressed all in blue
to celebrate you

Margaret Ann Waddicor 22nd May 2016