Poetryby Kathleen M. Krueger
Gunshot is fired
Crack echoes in crescendo
A tin can lies dead
Sphere of youthful Spring
Tossed across the years
Settling on the closet floor
Amongst an old man’s tears
In wooden glades of mossy green
with barren feet she ran between.
Sensing call that touched her heart
to follow paths this voice did chart.
Of whom it came, and who was he,
that moved her from her home to flee;
this answer she did not contain,
but the strength of it, it did not wane.
Standing now within that heather glen,
his sense of presence she felt again.
Spirit being, his form so undefined,
His words of love, heard in her mind.
They danced within his spirit realm
not confined to mortal sight.
No need to touch of fleshly hands,
their spirits strongly woven tight.
And as the sun did start to rise,
tears of sadness filled her eyes.
For once again she must let him go,
his presence lost– in day’s new glow.