She asks me how my days have gone.
They've been so grim as those outside.
I wake to work, then eat and sleep.
My mind's another fallow field, which,
Raked by icy northern winds, yields
Nothing. She says, “Come see me.”
The sun peeks through the winter
Haze, but briefly. “I can't. I must
Rest, ” and, soon, she and the sun
Have vanished. Darkness takes me
In, instead. Another day has come
And gone, and it and I were grim.
Comments about this poem (Fallow Me by Lawrence Beck )
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