Through Windows – 4

I've not felt 
The Aegean sun 
Through morning windows; 
But I know she has, I know. 
In wistful longing silence, 
Pouring through pictures 
Her body craning 
As though reaching for 
That lost sun.

There's that day 
That was our best one: 
Once gone, we go on 
Knowing we reached our great peak 
Under a different sky, 
Before the years came 
To vandalize our 
Sore bodies. 

I do not 
Begrudge her these things: 
They are hers.

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.

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