My apology  for the error of 'cut and paste' which occurred when this was initially posted earlier today. All corrected now I think.

The wind of change blows,

through the unfurling leaves.

Raising, silently,

steam – from moist sunlit soil

that only feels this heat once each year.

A light mist fogs the slanting columns

of Spring sunlight, and all could

be well with the world ~

only,

of course,

the world is far from well.

It is an illusion then … like all things …

something and nothing … there and not there …

Warm balmy air to sweeten your breath

fills this tunnel through the trees,

and soon it will become a refuge from

the relentless Summer heat….

I feel your breath tickle my cheek,

your fingers tingling my neck,

trailing through my hair ~

only,

of course,

you are nowhere near me.

It is an illusion then … like all things …

something and nothing … there and not there …

Clean fresh air fills my lungs as I pace,

panting my way up this hill …

it’s just the same gas that we breath daily -

the spoken air: that once fueled

the lungs of the proud Robin …

that mixed inside the frog’s croak …

that bore your sweet kiss ~

only,

of course,

it is far from being fresh.

It is an illusion then … like all things …

something and nothing … there and not there …

My virile mind maintains it’s old lie,

my heart boom-booms to my step …

for I am young, and fit, and full of vim …

Legs of iron, lungs like silk,

going on for ever – like the sun -

doing exercise ~

only,

of course,

I am far from being young.

It is an illusion then … like all things …

something and nothing … there and not there …

So I stop and turn back, without you

I fear my mortality …

an old, tired man, who power walks each day,

but is fearful without

a plastic identity card,

to tie on my toe ~

so that ...

someone ...

could tell you that I am ... 'me'.

It's no illusion then ... the cold hand of reality …

something and nothing ... there but not there.

© Allen Ansell 2022