John Sugden
Prague
Up stream bleak day instals itself,
the wind out of the north
mourning the blood of children,
their cries riding the river’s surge.
You bring me rain,
belief in uncertainties,
in the next catastrophe,
but you go on dreaming,
the days slowly unwinding
inside your ordered happiness.
And for me,
the pain never stops.
Page(s) 109
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