Poem -
while primrose rise
Cacophonies of sacred bones
lay at my feet with worms and
stones and other things that
move and rot while primrose rise
and you're forgot by world by life
by all in light for who can bear
the deep down night but I child...
I...I know you well you're story
lives I ever tell while primrose
rise and all things rot I rise you
son... alone you're not.
M ~
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Comments
He is not forgotten. Especially not when you write of him. I never knew him and yet I will never forget him — that's the power of your writing, Marion x
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