I stand at the cob-webbed ancient windows
The wind blows down from mountains of the moon
Starlight is gently etched amongst the leaves
Shifts in perception shatter the mirror to splinters
And in this magic space he disappears
In the frozen silence it seems he fades forever
But it feels a gentle loss
The precious moments held tightly in my hand
The bracken cracks under his feet
The mirror is down the reflection is gone
Yet the moment never ends
Waves of hills flow toward the horizon
His shadow falls across the window
Then turning slowly he walks away
Leaving the touch of winter in my soul
And the whispering of the wind
© Ann Bagnall
