Curlew Poem by David Devereux
Curlew
The plaintive cry of the curlew
is sadly, heard no more
on the bleak and windswept moor
I wandered as a child long ago.
But now, as I walk the heathered upland,
in my mind's ear I hear it calling,
like a ghostly spirit whistling
on the wind of sixty, lost forever years.
Sunday, November 17, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: nostalgia
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3/14/2026 4:26:55 PM # 1.0.0
