In the Whirl of Seasons (1)

It's neither grief, nor flaws: 
Some sadness has no cause, 
But merely is, like gravity, 
Or nature's other laws. 

She's chilly to the bone, 
And one thing is her own:
And that's that she is here, and now,
And totally

Alone

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

Leave a Reply