The journey

At Christmas, my heart is heavy

With the loss of looking forward.

And at Halloween, that cosy scene,

That never manifests

Leaves me wondering

Where summer went,

And those boundless days

Of shared vitality.

Spring, at least, trembles on the edge

Of something more.

Each new bulb bursting,

A prelude

To something more.

And so I am comforted by promise,

The move towards,

Rocked like foetuses,

We are going,

We are going,

We are going,

We are going, to be okay.

Those miles between A and C,

Where B is being,

And C, just a concept,

Of something more.

It is when I sit still

I am reminded

Of all I have passed by.