Cold Stone
Dirt and stone beneath my feet,
clouds and mist above me,
in my ears, the sheep’s high bleat.
Dear, I know you love me.
As I wander down the road
I leave you behind me,
standing in the field I hoed.
Shafts of sunlight blind me.
My way is long and dark, alone.
I won’t be returning.
Will our child remember, grown,
a father’s love so burning?
Yet I must this journey make
else my soul be fettered.
Your love you gave and I did take,
but it left me tethered.
annewestlund
feywriter
lin52
Margaret Fieland
Margaret
Michele
Poetic Muselings 
Written by Margaret Fieland
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