feel the wind whistle
down the tenebrous sky
come to carry away
my silenced heart

hold dear the love
you see through
    my dried  tears —
before  the  glint
doth  fade

lay me down alone,
my dearest friend,
eyes  to  the  sky
   neath the lone oak tree —
atop the meadow hill

where a lonely child
climbed gnarled rungs
in hope to sail away
on fleeting cotton clouds;
dreaming of a place
in the distant sky
to  call  home


Jesse Stillwater ... September 21, 2018