Posted by: Chris Brew | January 31, 2017

In the dark

In darkness beats my heart exceeding slow
The clock, unsleeping, taps its metric round
Unbidden come my breaths, and silent go
An hour till dawn, no dreams, no light, no sound
Yet still my mind must race, and run, and churn
Upon the tasks that day alone can bring
And so it never will to sleep return
Till letters come, dogs bark, and doorbells ring.
I start, was that the bugle’s martial call?
Will I awake to pipes? To battle cry?
No need, it was the thermostat, that’s all
Those pipes they creak a bit, and so do I
I must arise, and make some buttered toast
This is, with coffee, what  I need the most.

An actual prizewinner. earned £20 from “The Oldie”.

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