We Were Pretty in the summer of your seventh year.
beautiful, even.
and politics floated over our heads like clouds over Orkney
but playground games lay dead beneath our feet,
as we ran.
We felt screwed over by the revenue from lemonade -
but we smiled,
and the ribbons in your hair
blew in breezes we couldn't quite beat
and over great oaks we swore we could oneday climb,
and we did.
Together Alone we could fly
and sing
and float like clouds over Orkney – til your seventh year became your tenth.
then, always alone in our battles for valour and love,
I began to watch you die.
as I kept on fighting,
outgrew
you the war,
and your brain flew too fast
for my heart.
s l o w l y
but
lost
surely track of your shape
and
now I am loved, but you're gone -
and you're
gone.
