Where are the soft feelings gone to, child?
Are they in the corner in the hall,
shy and waiting to appear?
No, they are gone from there
and from the pantry where they hid
in chocolate cakes and tea;
gone from the blind coverlet
on the little bed of squares
and from the seat under the apple tree.
No shadows left of them
on this old path right to the door
or down by the old orange berry bush
with the hidey space on an earthen floor.
The soft feelings have vanished
as if their tiny feet never trod here,
were heard in another room,
living another life, imagined.
Where are they gone to, though?
I'm sure I did know them, that they were here,
that only a few moments ago
I had them in my sight.
The wind sighs in the apple tree,
the berries fall
and the path basks without shadows
in the autumn sun. Silence answers.
© Amanda J Harrington 2016