On the seventh day, of the third
month
a shade before the coming of spring,
your voice ceased to laugh and
sing.
A grim wind rapped the door,
you closed just a few hours
before.
Grief-stricken,
we knew you would not return
anymore.
➽Seán Maguire has been writing poetry, song lyrics, short stories and non-fiction for over thirty years and has had a considerable amount of his work published in magazines, newspapers, anthologies and online blogs. The above poem is taken from his collection For Those Left Behind.
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