Mourning Poem by Sheena Blackhall
Mourning
Mourning usually arrives
In the small hours
When the owl digests her kill
When souls, most frequently flit
From their human vessels.
It is a beastly predator
It suckles your memories dry
You wake in the morning raw
Knowing the full force of the word bereft
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Topic(s) of this poem: grief
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5/2/2024 10:11:32 AM # 1.0.0.1119
