My mind wanders back,
from time to time,
to the place of the winding road
where first I saw her…
on Street.
I don’t know who she was.
She stood in the
distance,
leaning against the boulder
of the Talking Rocks.
The morning sun
peeked through the sleepy
dogwood trees;
I leaned over the balcony rail,
in hopes of catching
a better glimpse
of her.
A wisp of wind
appeared, as if from nowhere.
She crossed her arms,
shuddering in the cool breeze
and turned to look my way.
Then she was gone –
disappeared,
as if she been…
dare I say a ghost?
I saw her once another time,
only briefly,
late at night with the moon
shining in her silver hair,
wandering aimlessly down
a dimly lit Street.
I don’t know who she is,
but sometimes, quite unannounced,
she sneaks into my dreams.
She says not a word
and, quietly as she came,
slips away
into the pale moonlight
down that twisted road
beyond the talking rocks.
Mahfooz Ali
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/talking-rocks/
