Weeping Wind
faded brown spots on the cold stone below
are what remains from the wind expressing its woe
its delicate fingers would trace the remains
of the shutterless eyes from the shattered black panes
where once crimson drops fell from the slits in her skin
it still sighs o’er the absence of you from within
through the years dust has settled
the lawn sickened by thorns
‘til her master’s return
through this mansion
it mourns.
photo by Felix Pergande
poem by Ramsy
Ramsy's Joint 