Kingsbrae 18.3
18 June 2017
Three Visitors
The first one knocked on my door,
called out my name, knocked again.
I got out of bed, opened the door,
looked out: but the corridor was empty.
The second one stood in the corner,
calling, calling … I tried to answer
but I couldn’t unseal my lips. “No,”
the visitor said. “No. Don’t go.”
Lips and throat dry, tongue tied,
I lay in my bed.
My third visitor was David,
and I knew he was dead.
If you don’t mind, I won’t tell him. It might spoil his day.
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That, Ana, is even more cryptic than my poem! Glad you visited, though.
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Hmmmm… is it a dream? A premonition?
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I’ll e-mail you on this.
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Very good!
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