through my window, I hear the wind blow.

it opens to streets of swift feet;

I again go nowhere.

I see the cars progress at haste,

passing prams pushed; progressing

up the path of life.

fix my gaze on old Mary

who shuffles by thinking;

John not here now.

I shift my weary eyes,

look in the mirror

and see lines.

not so long to go,

now is ever;

I slow,

feeling the cold

coming to



About Lindsay Craik

Writer & Poet Poetry, plays and short stories
This entry was posted in Flash, Poem and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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