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Mist
by Richard VinceShe’s there, somewhere, her wide eyes surveying
A familiar landscape in unfamiliar clothes.
As the trees begin to die, she comes alive,
Her heart warmed by the cooling days,
Her soul awakened by the lengthening nights.
This is her world: the place where she
Learns to be herself again after
A summer of hibernation and healing.
With every frosty morning,
With every mist softened view,
With every falling leaf, her soul
Fills with more joy than
It had dared to hope would find it again.
In the quiet, secretive countryside,
In the autumnal playground of her youth,
She’s there, somewhere.
10/23/2012 Posted on 11/04/2012
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by David Maurice on 11/05/12 at 01:07 AM tendrils all around. unique personification. I read the title as 'Missed' somehow, because this poem gave me a sense of longing. Nice. |
| Posted by Kristine Briese on 11/09/12 at 05:35 PM Beautifully ethereal; your lovely voice, as always. |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 11/10/12 at 04:03 AM Wonderfully positive message here, Vince. Reminds me also of someone I know. Congrats on hitting no. 1. |
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