Grief falls softly,
like a discarded leaf
tumbling to embers
and turning to ash.
It doesn’t crash,
but curls,
an ocean with the sound
turned down -
wave upon wave
of silent sorrow,
brimful of emptiness.
Thank you Bill. Much appreciated. I'll try to get reading some of your poetry as soon as I get organised with this site!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Thank you very much, Mr. Jones. (Both for understanding and appreciating AND for calling me young in my fortieth year.)