At Last
One general dead in the afternoon
The bells are not ringing, the rain
Continues to beat to no lament
In your heart you moved
Mountains of holes, the soil
Of course the river took its toll
The dream a million times
Writing down the sounds to make
Some small thing of your own
Left out in the stars
Faint, not really in heaven
You and she belong together
You smile, it was all unspoken
She came back pulling an old suitcase
Tied round with rope, a broken wheel.
© 2011 Rob Schackne
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