Spilt Dreams
“Sing to me! ”
you sigh
resting your head
on my lap.
I stroke your hair
as outside
on the Yorkshire Moors
a storm
towers majestically
above our
frail fragile love.
I sing
unevenly inexpertly
all the Rodgers & Hart
songs I can sing
out of tune & brokenly
keep the storm at bay
with nothing but the love
in my voice
your sleeping hair
spilt like dreams
across my lap.
poem by Dónall Dempsey
Added by Poetry Lover
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