Father Out Of Time And Other Stories

Tombstone With The Crows

I sit and think
of all the times we had bled.
I sit and think
of the chilly mornings sleep
by the tombstone with the crows
that comfort me here with you.
I sit and think.

Silence chilly,
I long for your embrace.
Those fading breaths.

You hold my head.
And I hold yours with me.
You hold my head
and we become statues
under the moonlight, chilly
midnight dreaming waiting.
You hold my head.

But yours falls too your neck
and tumbles down the staircase,
greeting me staring at
the moonlight in our wake.

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