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Amelia Fielden

 

translucent waves
   rolling towards the shore
   gradually
   I have come to see
   we’ll never be lovers
 
      
 
  releasing
  yellow leaves one by one,
  the mother tree
  lives another autumn –
  kiss me and don’t look back
 

 
 Alzheimer’s
 has drained the painter’s mind
 dried her brushes –
 ‘orange’ is just a sweet taste
 her husband hand-feeds her
 
   
 
  still empty
  my black lacquer box
  awaiting
  something too precious
  to lie uncovered
 
    
 on the finger
 of that handsome young man
 offering his seat,
 a silver wedding ring –
 I still notice such things

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   About Amelia Fielden  

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