Auburn Brogue

Photo ©️Orion Foote

Auburn Brogue 
(Four Chinese Quatrains)

I broach the chill of deep night:
my cape trimmed neat in black braid.
In times of strife, this heart cries -
yet sings of you as dreams fade.

Our bairn was fair - her pale voice 
a thrush-like song from warm nest;
smiled like the sun at first light;
small face turned with mouth to breast.

Let us sing of days gone by,
we as one we'll make a choir
we'll drink to death, our cups raised -
watch snowflakes paint the church spire.

©️Orion Foote