Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
Hard Times/ Grief Does Not Say Anything
I am tired.
So very tired
of making it all fit.
I suppose it’s called
grief.
It wears you down,
into a rounded rock
in a dull dumb landscape,
where once was
an exhilarating mountain range,
lush and forested.
Everything, or something like it,
has happened before -
and why bother anyway?
Just to walk away
from the flowers, grass, the seagulls and people,
the tiptoeing, fence-walking cat
in front of that hazy tall-trunked forest
across the grey wide river
as it meets the Tasman tides.
A lovely break at Port Waikato!
with the heat, noise, active flea or two,
and mosquitoes at night -
but most of all
with grief,
my companion with no name,
because grief does not
say anything.
poem
by
Iain Trousdell
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black