The Visitors Poem by Paul Henry.

The women of my earliest years
fill this room's empty bay
without warning -

Brown Helen,
Catrin Sands, Gwyneth Blue,
Nightingale Ann...

Their songs
return to a stranger's hand
the keys to all past tenancies,

Heulwen, Dwynwen, Bron Y Llan...

I lie back, let them haunt,
the soft pulse of their lips
against the stone wall I've become,

Heather, Geta, Prydwen Jane...

listen hard across the dark
as their voices fade again,

Edith Smart, St Julia...

sleep with the bedroom door ajar
in case they should drift back in.