Cold blows the wind

poem

Iris Shaw

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The leaves rattle down the street

Like bones without an owner 

Searching for their grave —

Wrap your arms about your shivering skin;

Your hands are cold, don't touch me,

Leave me be, let my bones go

Let me lie quiet where they put me:

I have had enough of weeping — kiss me once

And come with me, or else leave off your crying;

I am not now for you, not anyone; the living

Are surely the plague of the dead.

I am your love, or I was once

Though I died long ago:

Let me forget and fall apart

Let me die again, and speak no more.

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