A Child’s Winter Show
Your voice receded
like the sun – it fell
behind shadowed hills
with winter’s deft touch.
The hours came – left us
as slow as slow could be,
drifting over blue dodgems
and fever pitched furore.
I wanted to reach up
with frozen hands, pull
the sunglasses from your eyes
and watch the rain
crying over toffee apples.
©️ Orion Foote
Visions of Orion Poetry 