soft grey

home, along the way
minishant, through and on
i topped the hill before turnberry
a place where great golfers play
and rich people stay and do whatever
and where she should have been
she was not, gone missing
rode her giant turtles and left

ms ailsa how i stretched my eyes
in search of one quick glimpse
but no, the craig is awol
and you, sweet goddess of the rock
absorbed within the distant sea mist
so ,sunk my leaden heart a little more
this dreary soft grey day
of tear washed eyes

All materials Copyright © 2004-2008 by Eryll Oellermann