She sits by the window, in that old rocking chair,
looks out to the street, but tries not to stare.
This scenes been replayed for the last seven days,
as she waits for her men, her thoughts in a daze.
Three months it has been since she last saw those two,
her husband and son were part of the crew.
Watching children play with ball and with bat,
running and laughing, with others just sat.
The mailman walks past with a large heavy sack,
followed by a sound on her front door,rat a tat tat!!!!.
Slowly rising from her chair, she heads for the door,
the years now seem heavy as she walks along her floor.
No words are spoken as he puts in her hand,
a small brown envelope stamped company's brand.
Sitting back down, she has a short rest,
while staring at the parchment and hoping for the best,
Out in the street a scream can be heard,
"were sorry to say all hands were lost,Mrs bird"
A replay of this scene is played across our fair city,
where women and children are in need of our pity.
Fishermen on the ships are not the only braves,
Those left at home are equally not saved!!!
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Author:
P.H.Rose (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: November 17th, 2016 11:51
- Comment from author about the poem: I live in a fishing town called Hull, well it was but now I'm Afraid it's a thing of the past and just our heritage. My town has a similar population to Portland Maine We've lost too many men to the sea....
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 30
Offline)
Comments4
Wow, P.H. Rose, sad but beautiful. I could visualize Mrs. Bird.
Thank you... over the years we've had way too many Mrs Bird...
Wow that gave me the chills. So well done I could also visualize Mrs. Bird.
Thank you so much
A lovely tribute. I can't imagine the angst of waiting even when it has a happier ending.
Thank you Augustus,
Unfortunately it's in our DNA
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