Where is the voice of balm dropping
like sweet rain?
Where is the touch of hands like the
scent of lilies sweet and white?
Where is the light falling in the shaft of 
god all coloured like a rainbow?
Where is the knowing whisper
that tells all sorrows end?
Where is the sleep stealing soft
the pillows of a childhood dream?
Where is the heartsease growing 
like a flower in Spring, all delicate and young,
a thrush's song?
Where has she gone?
Where is the love to salve that loss?
Where is belief that hope still wins,
that life to live is possible, this 
thing of weighted nothings in the hand?
The sudden shock, the act unplanned that
cuts the cord,
unravelling I spin away, too singular, too free,
too light to feel the pain, I am borne
a scarf of mist, a drop of rain,
a petal in the wind, a red balloon unstrung and overblown
empty with air
and she not here to see me land.
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