(A Mayberrie poem)
.
At dusk
she lit a candle
as a heavy mist
rolled in
from off the sea.
The trees rained softly
just outside her door
and seemed to speak
into the gloom:
What about the ring?
The ring –
this deep-carved ring
of honest gold
reflecting sparks of light
around the room –
she wished it too would speak.
.
Shadows grew,
she heard the trees
still whispering
and put the candle out.
Curled into bed
she closed her eyes
and felt the ring expand,
grow warm,
no longer on her finger
but encircling her body
like two strong arms
that held her
through the night.
It needed not a voice
nor words, to speak.
.
© 2012 Betty Hayes Albright
.
(For a list of all poems in this series, please click on the Mayberrie tab at the top of this blog.)
Seasonings 