Weekly Post Challenge
I last saw her there at the crossroads in winter.
She drove in on the road with a deep dip in it;
All pleased as punch with herself,
And before her kiss on my cheek had dried,
She slapped it, caught the intersecting train and was gone.
I endure the scar of that smack
For being incapable of being any real comfort to her.
I swear I could stare at a mountain and turn it to dust
But I‘m powerless to strip off the imp that leaches her spirit.
I can only trust in her to fight in her own way, far away.
It’s because I adore her so,
Why I wait here
At the crossroads in this winter chill.
I watch for the day that she returns to me again;
All pleased as punch with herself.