The fog hung heavy, high on the hill
In the place that kept me
I can see the pink of the roses, still
Just as they were as I watched from my window's sill –
Red berries move in 'round them, come June.
The way was simpler there, and sweet
In the place that kept me
Time rolled over in the winding street
It waved and shook like the golden wheat –
The wheat grows thick on the countryside.
St. John's wort curled against the wall
In the place that kept me
The black bird's feathers would loosen and fall
In the evening when he came to call his call –
He comes, still, though I am gone.
A yellow dog dozed beneath the sun
In the place that kept me
She came to understand that her races were won
So she lay in the grass till day was done –
A gray cat comes, now, to sit in her place.
A leaf was pulled down the shallow stream
In the place that kept me
Its ripples faded in evening's gleam
It played, like us, against the highest regime
And I will burn off, like so much morning mist.
In the place that kept me
I can see the pink of the roses, still
Just as they were as I watched from my window's sill –
Red berries move in 'round them, come June.
The way was simpler there, and sweet
In the place that kept me
Time rolled over in the winding street
It waved and shook like the golden wheat –
The wheat grows thick on the countryside.
St. John's wort curled against the wall
In the place that kept me
The black bird's feathers would loosen and fall
In the evening when he came to call his call –
He comes, still, though I am gone.
A yellow dog dozed beneath the sun
In the place that kept me
She came to understand that her races were won
So she lay in the grass till day was done –
A gray cat comes, now, to sit in her place.
A leaf was pulled down the shallow stream
In the place that kept me
Its ripples faded in evening's gleam
It played, like us, against the highest regime
And I will burn off, like so much morning mist.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.

Post a Comment
Be the first to comment on this article!