She wakens in the still of night
In need of much more sleep
The room is dark & quiet
But for a faint glow by her feet
She sits up very slowly
And rubs her eyes to see
She thinks she must be dreaming
'However can this be? '
Now she sees her very clearly
A young woman dressed in white
With long dark hair & skin so fair
This stranger in the night
She sits in bed quite calmly
And does not speak a word
For she feels no fear or danger
Of this she is assured
She begins to speak quite softly
Asking 'Where has she come from? '
The stranger looks bewildered
Saying 'From where did you come? '
This is my home she answers
'Oh no this cannot be! '
The stranger says with kindness
'This home belongs to me.'
The stranger takes her by the hand
And pulls her from the bed
'It's time that you cross over.
I'm sorry but you're dead.'
'Oh no I am not dead! ' she says
As she walks right through the wall
The stranger in the night it seems
Was not a stranger after all.
Rebecca Parker
For me, the best poetry is the poetry that puts an image in my mind....this poem put a very vivid scene in mine, good job.
Yes.. your time with the master poet Sweetbird was well spent.. Sooooooo many young poetesses such as yourself would have given their all to have been in your place!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Absolutely enchanting. Loved it. Danny