Sinking

Keep a place for me
where the dog rose hangs summertime,
and the nightingales churn
their everchanging hurdy-gurdy of song.

The rain comes down and then the cold,
and all things creep beneath the drips.
Even the colour of memories washes out
beneath this sadness.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

3 thoughts on “Sinking”

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