Winter Walk

You keep me company, wind gust,
my old friend
so clear yet so fickle.
How ridiculous must we seem
you and I:
you like a playful puppy
chasing leaves, hats,
yesterday’s tabloids…
I staggering along the street
each time you trip me up…
How cold you must feel, my friend.
How red your cheeks are –
or is it just that the sun is setting?
Oh, my poor restless friend,
homeless, without family.
Now I understand why you are
so blustery, so mischievous –
it’s to hide the great emptiness
at the center of your being.
Come! Come, my old friend – I’ll tell you
about being home, about having a family,
of still places, of love…
Ah – don’t push me so! I’m going,
I’m going…

© Gregory V Driscoll 2013

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