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Seven Fifteen

it seems cool, outside

god is falling in the rain,

growing trees are humble,  

 

just the breath of two sparrows

no songs, no light flute

from the pidgeon cut from stone;

none of it ever gets old. 

 

Space will simply sit around,

ageing until its filled.

 

The silence within the cat arrives,

they sit and stare 

from where there once seemed nothing, 

 

the opening of a door removes them both,

and that space is born again

younger and fresher

for its moment joining in 

with the rest of us, 

joining in.

 

 

You're No Sylvia ►

Comments

<Deleted User> (18118)

Sun 22nd Apr 2018 18:44

Great atmosphere in this poem.
Enjoyed it.

Hannah

Pat Hughes

Sun 22nd Apr 2018 18:02

I agree with Martin,beautiful work.

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Martin Elder

Sun 22nd Apr 2018 17:23

There are some fabulous lines here, but I particularly like
'god is falling in the rain'
wonderful stuff.

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