Sep 012008
 

Songs were washing up on the shore
Smooth as sea glass, in greens and blues
We picked them up and held them to our ears
Like shells
And heard their wave-abraded tunes
Just faintly, faintly
We couldn’t catch the words


Francesca Forrest lives in a liminal place between a swamp and a town, where she enjoys reading and writing poetry and tales of the unusual.

Image: Siren, Sir Edward John Poynter, 1864

 Posted by at 5:14 am

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