VanGogh Edge of a Wood

A silence so full of sound
 That we cannot hear your voice
Hopes, dreams, fears
In free fall
Slipping through your fingers
As you run laughing in the fields
Of a stolen childhood
As if you were only chasing
Soap bubbles on a cold northerly wind
Laughter filled with tears
Until the two become one
And we spread our arms to catch
Every thing we cannot see
As the wind blows through us
Weeping into the night
Wendy Lobb 1996