Hurry Home Now – A Poem

In the wee hours is sometimes the way a poem comes.  Or that idea for something that feels like a poem or feels like a story or just some feeling.  And so here I am with this – for what it is worth:

Hurry Home Now

I remember this
so white the walls
and a soft whimpering
like rose petals
falling
and cold
in the room.
Who was in that misery there
on the window seat
sighing out to sea
and all that would return no more?

Ellespeth

3 thoughts on “Hurry Home Now – A Poem

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