Windy Hill
April 15, 2013
A bitter wind claws at my neck, the sun disdained.
A dozen years have passed since first my steps did bring
I tread the path alone, uncertain of the way.
What is this lonely place, bereft of solace and so far from home?
No comfort for a broken heart that never heals.
A precious burden carried one last time before release.
Returning to the earth from which we all are born.
Too soon, a life yet unfulfilled has passed.
No answers come to questions that forever haunt.
No forces beckon my return to mourn.
With nothing left to mark the place
I said goodbye to my first born.
