Carol Ann Duffy


Where I lived - winter and hard earth.  
I sat in my cold stone room 
choosing tough words, granite, flint,

to break the ice. My broken heart -  
I tried that, but it skimmed, 
flat, over the frozen lake.

She came from a long, long way, 
but I saw her at last, walking, 
my daughter, my girl, across the fields,

In bare feet, bringing all spring's flowers  
to her mother's house. I swear 
the air softened and warmed as she moved,

the blue sky smiling, none too soon, 
with the small shy mouth of a new moon.