Duncan MacLaurin
Hope
At last the day is dead and gone,
its greedy star a passing flame:
but our desire remains the same;
in darkest night it still shines on.
Despite the squalor on the street,
despite the tatters of our dream,
despite a never-ending stream
of deadlines we may never meet,
that wild old whisper still wakes spring,
still ushers rivers into flood,
and we still feel the rush of blood
each time we hear the blackbird sing.
You walk beside me in a blend
of soul mate, sweetheart, muse and friend.
Page(s) 5
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- Lamport Court
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- Pen Pusher Magazine
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- Rialto, The
- Second Aeon
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- Shearsman
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- Staple
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- Tabla Book of New Verse, The
- Thumbscrew
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- Ugly Tree, The
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- Yellow Crane, The