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.

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!

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