I miss you.

Thirteen years now, my dearest cousin, you are gone to me.
I mourn for you quietly and if only loudly once, in a short poem.

My heart seems to make merry in a far off place
Whilst the cold bite of winter-come, dance upon my skin
Drawn into the distance like a weary traveler, my gaze do drift
As though I weren’t here at all if only it weren’t for your absence;
A reminder so swiftly comes, sun setting on my hopes for another day now past
I see a shadow, a chance moment, gone so quickly like a falling star
For you it cannot be, you left so long ago, leaving all a heart to sob and rot
Left September to solemn-glow, golds and browns dimly lit, for your laughter I miss
And so to recoil, thirteen mine number now, and wish for far-gone days to me.

©Lindsay Young, 2010

The only other words I can muster can be found in this song, Departure is my chef payne