A branch was torn from my tree
The incorruptible set free
An open wound gapes oozing tears
From every layer of the years
The seasons come, the seasons go,
The bleeding edges of the weal
Time slowly starts to heal
Sometimes I hear the whisper of her voice
The breeze blows gently through the leaves
Sometimes I catch a fleeting glance
Her form, shifting shadows seem to dance
The substance of her essence
Embedded in my heart.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
My best friend passed away long before her time, bringing to an end the dreams we had of retirement years, it was like a limb was torn from me. There was a tree outside my house that the wind had torn a branch from, and I could see that wound heal and so I knew mine would heal in time.
Deryn is a writer, artist, nature, and travel lover. Born in Rhodesia, from 1820 Settler pioneering stock, she has traveled the world, moving to South Africa and the United Kingdom following her career as an exploration cartographer and housing manager, she now lives in the USA. Her rich adventures have enabled her to write about transforming life’s experiences. She has had articles published in travel and Christian magazines. She also has a couple of anthologies and one self-published book to her name.