My Beloved Is Drawing Nigh

My Beloved is
a burst of blackbirds
in a cold, grey-cotton sky.

My Beloved is
the solitary oak, clinging
to his leaves at winter’s end.

My Beloved is
the haunted keening
of a woman’s forgotten heart.

My Beloved is
drawing nigh.

My Beloved is
the tender snowdrop, seeking
Spring’s fair face.

My Beloved is
the reckless wisdom
of a child at play.

My Beloved is
the murky marsh of memory
and Hope’s gentle horizon.

My Beloved is
drawing nigh.

~Cheryl Anne

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