Estarrge Tase

the leaves cling to the crippled, scorned bark,
shadowing the Elder’s aging mark.
she horrors the face,
love’s angle auld has lost its proper place.
its the meaning of her that winters me bereft,
frozen, never to gain.
oh suspicion, wing me near thy fleeting swans of ancient lakes.
lead me to blue, spring waters for lassie’s sake?