Ellen Devilliers Poems

'Hold on to my hands.'

My father’s gentle hands,
Worn by work, a craftsman’s hands
...

I am waiting for you. Waiting for a sign.
Lost behind the screens of well-wishers, sympathy, kindness.
Well behind the ropes of the ring, out of bounds.
When will you come? Will I know?
...

You are not here.
Your smile, your laughter, gentle humour,
No longer greet our mornings,
Susan Small has packed her case and gone.
...

Summer evenings on a crowded beach, with youngsters playing,
Carefree abandon, joyous adolescence, salad days of insouciance,
A young man with a guitar sang them their philosophy,
Your eyes, full of tenderness and desire,
...

Dissolution, evaporation, the ending of our love
Like the rising of the morning mist, comes by slow degrees,
Imperceptible, inevitable, a slowly changing structure,
A change wrought in the heart before the mind.
...