C.p Singleton has done me proud.
(Thank you Chris, dear brother, true poet.)
wonderful picture by Wildersoul. Go check out her great blog. She sent me the picture to see if I could come up with some words for it. I hope I did her proud.
She had awoken.
The winter night cried pain
Into her sleep-tired ears.
It was a siren.
Not for sailors; but by them.
She recognised one deep voice
Among the many that sang.
It was like picking out a bassoon in
An orchestra of just clarinets.
It was his voice. A voice she heard
In the familiarity of every creak and
Each crack of the few loose floor-
Boards in the cottage they shared.
It was in the clanging of the
Garden gate as it shut behind him.
It was in the echoes of the silence
When he was away at sea.
She sat up in bed. Something
Felt different in her little world.
Something felt empty.
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