"We Should Be Going Home"

I tread softly

through these forests.

 

Your love, my love,

is a scared little beast,

the kind you can never

feed or catch, but only

glance at, through the mist,

if you are silent enough,

and sad.

 

I should be going home,

but you know,

I can’t help it,

I tread softly.

 

You run restless

through these forests.

 

My love, my love,

is a child walking slow,

the kind you can never

soothe or calm, but only

accompany, with your woe,

if you are mad enough,

and far.

 

You should be going home,

but I know,

you can’t help it,

you run restless.

Elisa Sabbadin