Tugged skyward by a swollen moon,
your closet heart crammed full of stuff
grown shabby over years, your
leaving shocks us all awake
who stumble into day,
strip off the comfort of dull sleep,
and, plodding, labour on.
Over breakfast coffee so much
is said, written, tweeted,
posted on Facebook and yet
there is so little left to say.
A star burned out and fell today -
and we are of such stuff.
Based at her home at Druids Lodge in the shadow of Carn Brea, Abigail Wyatt writes poetry and short fiction. Website here