Thundering news hits me like a snowball
Struck in my face and shattering
Covering me in a fine powder and mist
And mixing in with my tears
And I'm 57 but I could be 7 years old,
To comprehend the expansiveness
Of what I've just learned
But you, have disappeared
Somewhere, spinning round the sun
Walking through unfamiliar streets
And I'm shaking unfamiliar hands
And I'm hearing unfamiliar laughs
And lovely language I don't understand
It's late October in Copenhagen
The skies are grey, the snow is falling
I see my breath outside, I'm freezing
I'm motionless, I'm disbelieving
But you, have disappeared
Somewhere, spinning round the sun
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