Depression

Depression

 
There was a knock upon the door,
light touch I feared to know;
depression made a timely call
to talk to me awhile.

My eyes grown misted by the tears,
saw enemy outside, but in my heart
a still voice, said so silently:
‘Ask your friend inside.’

And when I opened wide the door,
embraced and led her in,
she held my hand, caressed my brow
and hugged me in my grief.

Then shared my tears, heard well my fears,
and nodded at the words,
that till this time no other ear
but mine had really heard.

And then she turned and walked away,
passed silent through the door,
with one grey wave and brief, slow smile
to farewell me once more.

86

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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