by Emily Ingram
Image credit: Eve Hepburn
Your garden is lost and it’s autumn,
You’d feel guilty if you knew.
The green gates are rusting like iron,
The rain filling your anaemic shoes.
I’m losing you, I’ve lost you,
Forgotten your shape
And the colour of your eyes.
You’re beyond the meadow
And the tree and the skylarks;
You’re only carbon but you’re
Better than the skies.
Emily Ingram
Emily is a writer and theatre professional living in Edinburgh with myalgic encephalomyelitis (M.E.) and a small cat named Gremlin. She is the artistic director for Some Kind of Theatre and knits and drinks lots of tea in her spare time. She infrequently blogs under the name Stage Dormouse.
