The clothes now wave which hang upon
This tired old line that stretches from,
The house unto the garden's end
In winds that blow so strong,
With every gust there yields a chill
Of winter that does cruelly bite,
This bitter air is never still
And wails an eerie song.
Each garment there is pegged and spaced
Upon the line that bows and sags,
Beneath the weight of dampened sheets
And every sock and shirt,
Which dry within the morning sun
That shines between the racing clouds,
Yet there does lie a handkerchief
Of white within the dirt.
Fallen from the line it dwelt
Now stained with mud where once it held,
My tears I wept now washed away,
Yet I remember well,
The cause, the pain, the grief and hurt
The scars of which shall never heal,
Those memories fresh I'll leave it there
Exactly where it fell.
Another excellent piece of writing from you Andrew, poignant and well woven thanks 10 Lynda xx
A beautifully touching poem and story Andrew! From start to finish a pleasure to read! ! Best wishes! ! *10*! ! Friend Thad
Lovely, lovely! Your poems are such a pleasure to find and read. Every story is so well captured and woven together with your wonderful words. Excellence always. love and hugs Ernestine XXX
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is immence, now listen Andrew, I don't want to have to wait years until I look back and say oh he's just brilliant 'I want to tell you in the here and now' Andrew YOU'RE BRILLIANT! ! ! There, , , said it All the best Love duncan X