Desolate

Excuse me if I weep

…the charm of this sweet

autumn day reminds me

of the charm of one I loved.

This horizon, like

hers, stretches

fluently into a

misty

miraging

ethereal distance.

These trees, like dreams

once dreamed by her,

flash gilt-edged red

in high triumph.

This wind, like

her spirit, pushes

laughter

past the

lump

in my throat.

Excuse me if I weep.

I cannot soon forget that

underneath this loveliness

    …

lies killing frost.

 

 

 

anja-7539
My cousin Anja Miller, who died two years ago.

Come quickly, Lord Jesus.


The poem was written by Judy Unruh in Lions Beyond the Lattice.

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One thought on “Desolate

  1. Victoria

    Yes, we still weep for Anja. Every Saturday night I spend the night at her place and every Sunday morning I wear a rose from her memory garden, to church. Anja, we miss you. Come quickly Lord Jesus!

    Liked by 1 person

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