Monday, 22 July 2013


Death was creeping up slowly. It was pushing its way up through springtime buds, dancing with the cherry blossoms, resting amongst the lavender and sage. I watched it kneel over autumn’s coverlet, heard it hum as we ran in circles through the wide open fields of childhood, of hours of reverie as we searched for freedom. I heard it sing as I gasped beneath your touch.

(published - Decanto Poetry Journal 12/12)

© Eabha Rose

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