and that, at least

we stood there by the little brook 
both frozen in our sudden tracks; 
we held trite truth within our hands 
with late wind there upon our backs 

we felt hurt winter calling home 
the hard relief we longed to feel; 
we stood beside the silent ice 
and that, at least, 

was real

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