The Day that Never Came
My Charles is not here. The wind moves through
The sun-struck wheat, but Charles is not there.
The early springtime trees beneath the blue
Skies Windsor offers hold out their still bare
Tree limbs. I often daydreamed I would show
These branches to my man. He never came.
The pheasants step the fields for food below
The leafless bark this time of year. They claim
Their hapless meals and so to them the scene
Fulfils their gullets, bellies and their guts.
Their dreams they have inside the grain fields’ green
Come true. My dream of him watching them shuts.
..He never came to Windsor on the bright
….Green coach. He’s in a greenless, birdless night.