A Letter from the Village
Aamir Ansari May 7, 2005
Tags: letter , scrawl , child , rememberance
It is written in the old, rustic scrawl,
A thin, black trickle pushing its way
Through a nest of rock and the cold,
Improbable distance slowly dissolving
Into dusk and a child, scurrying amiably
Through amber fields and the gift of
His mother’s voice, rising like ribbons
In the molten
sky, fetching him home.
A thin, black trickle pushing its way
Through a nest of rock and the cold,
Improbable distance slowly dissolving
Into dusk and a child, scurrying amiably
Through amber fields and the gift of
His mother’s voice, rising like ribbons
In the molten
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