Sheena Blackhall

Gold Star - 10,154 Points (18/8/1947 / Aberdeen)

Mourning Poem 3 - Poem by Sheena Blackhall

The graves lie out in the wet
The living are home and dry
March...and the weather's dreich
Snow hills and a weeping sky

Buds pull their coats about them
Shivering in mist and rain
The hook-beaked curlew's calling
Like a spirit wracked with pain.

You have slipped from touch to memory
Under the sodden dew
Like the breeze that parts the moor-grass
Parts it and passes through

And I would give every treasure
To join you there in the rain
And rock you as in your childhood
In your ghostly counterpane

Topic(s) of this poem: mourning


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, April 22, 2018



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