Winnie Thomson

Mountain of Pain

I am many-faceted and, I hope, fascinating;
but now, my outer covering of politeness and charm is burned away.

The bushes blaze in uncontrolled, hellish light
Afraid, I feel the mountain falling on me. And charm is burned away.

Can I apologise- again- or do I let it lie?
Mea Culpa- how can I put out this fire of tactlessness? The charm is burned away.

Praying for rain, for water, I weep, vulnerable and weak;
Water  will douse the flames. The charm is burned away.

The baptism of fire is literal and real;
new growth now- the mountain recreated.

Yet still the scars are there.
In Winifred, a red point of pain.

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