My Soul, My Shelter

Standing by the willow tree, teeth-chatter shivering,

Brother’s arms around me, can’t stop me quivering,

“We’ll go home,” he says, “Ducky, we’ll head home soon,”

But for now time has stopped itself beneath the fullest moon.

My fingertips I cannot feel as wind contrives its form,

My soul my only haven my shelter from the storm.

“Open your eyes,” he pleas, “Home is very near,”

But my eyes clamp tighter still, amid the wind and fear.

Years later, I hear the question posed,

Years later, my eyes are tightly closed.