gloomy grey surrounds the hills
I know are really there, a few
reluctant trees emerge as chary
silhouettes expressed against an
empty featureless depression etched
I really couldn’t care – a message
from a poet friend I’ve never met
was left and meant for sure to lift
me from this mourning mess
– and I wholeheartedly agree
it may not change the way I see
my death or make the grey less
onerous or re-arrange priorities –
yet he has sagely tendered that
my written word is worth the read
© 19 May 2009, I. D. Carswell
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