The first warm wind of spring
whispered threats in his ear.
Not even blossom bedecking
knolls of the smoking temple
embraced by those steepening hills
could turn the colour of his mind.
“I can’t feel a part of this,” he said.
He watched her take a piece of bread
and a cloud passed before her eyes.
Neither his touch or choicest word
would have any effect
and no amount of wisdom exuding
from centuries of contemplation
could prevent him feeling alone.
Their minds would never mingle
like fresh sandalwood in mountain air.
All he saw was a set of blue irises,
statements of beauty
and perhaps an intent
poem © copyright df barker 2012
