Wild, grey ghosts
Are marching on the moor
Too many to count
They fill my world
And windowsills.
She dies a little more
Every day,
Her ivory breastbone
Is all that is left.
Weather-bleached
And ivory-white
The tight-sprung
Heart of her delight
And mine.
And oh, my father visited yesterday
Falling softly
From the pages of a book
He was singing
'Is my team a'ploughing?'
I wonder
Does he know if I'm ok?
#CoSopoetry