She covers her face, weeps into her hand

Leaning against barren stretches of sand

And the trees behind her, though silent and still

Offer no shelter from the penetrating chill

She is forlorn and helpless, no hope to be found

Marked by the cross, that lies in the ground

A lover departed, she longs for his touch

And he reaches for her, with the wind’s gentle rush

©2016 Dorinda Duclos All Rights Reserved
Photo: Pixabay