Saw the slant figure running in the field
A melancholy shadow buried in the mound
I waited for a thought, sad
Remembrance recollection
Piercing as your lance
If you heard laughter it wasn’t me or I [correct me Chevalier!]
(Coward watching tilting windmills)
To be sad engulfed in sadness for you
Valiant man if you can stand
This song of cowardice
The wind
Thistles
Brown
The afternoon sun of your country stretching out forever
—Your sad countenance on my mind
& I cannot describe or cry
Counting the years
I can’t give back
Not with hearts sacrificed or with blood spilt on earth
—blood spilt dry—
For nothing gives back
Time
Your steps & your gray hair in wind
Round the windmill—tick-tacking the clock—wind nothing!
Helpless air
Swoosh & swirl breathless.
(for @dVersePoets–Thanks for the prompt, Brian.)