Night-Time In The Valley
In the golden spring of dawn
by Rebekah Gamble
the Winter cracks in my memory.
The night air is still chilling
the last of the Spring's morning melody.
The poppy gazes down
hanging in wordless despair
while something familiar and simple in my mind
I'm longing for home.
Home walked away from me,
as I asked him to,
and all golden mornings
lost their ability to frighten away
the sound of frost in my mind.
The dawn has risen and so I run away,
away from the light
only to be both chained and free once more
in the night-time of the valley.