the coolness of your skin, and your warm heart
the thickness of your hair, and your thin body
seemed like the wind could blow right through you
which it did
it blows through me, too though
it won’t blow me over
you waiting for me in the school yard
my favourite time of day
and the days you didn’t come
and the one day you would never come again:
Still, in time there are wild flowers again
and sunny days
there is new life, new love
and still the old, which never left
it’s blowing in the wind
which blows through you
and blows through all things, but cannot destroy
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A poem for my mother
One from the archives: this poem is dedicated to my mother, Elizabeth, who died aged 33. Today would have been her 64th birthday. It’s also dedicated to all those who knew and loved her, and to my children who she never got the chance to meet.
Written to celebrate turning forty, poetess Ingrid has gifted the world with her reflective poetry that covers a wide range of subjects. Her poems are relatable and universal, yet they distinctly deliver her unique poetic style and personal journeys, including travels. She is an intuitive and talented writer, and her collection is a must read!