A bright quarter moon
As I ran alone in the cold hours
Along the sunken road that twists
Between hill-valley and stream:
There was a dream, in the night
That woke me - a sadness
To make me sit by the fire
Then take me out, moon-seeing
And running, to hear only my feet
My breath - to smell only the coldness
Of the still, silent air:
But no spell, no wish
Brought my distant lover to me
And I was left to run slowly
Back
And wait the long hours
To Dawn.
By the fire, I think of nothing
Except the warmth of my love
No longer needed.
DW Myatt