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Moderator: Mahalia

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Post by Mahalia » 21 Apr 2016, 08:01

RED ALERT .. Maureen Clifford © The #ScribblyBark Poet

The sound of children’s laughter drifted through the open doors
as outside the wet and windy pavements glistened
with the last flurry of raindrops and a drift of rainbow leaves,
as the old bloke cocked his head as if to listen.
The empty evening stretched ahead, his life was solitary
with no one left to share his hearth or room,
he still recalled the girl in red, her sweet face brown and bonny
and heard her voice call to him from the gloom.

Come sail a boat with me Grandpa
the puddles are all smiling
Come sail with me away across the sea.
Come sail a boat with me Grandpa
for soon you know I’m leaving.
Come on Grandpa. Come sail a boat with me.

He rose up from his fireside chair and wandered to the doorway
and looked along the wet and windy street.
There were no children playing there at all that he could see
and no one passing by that he could greet.
He shook his head, now puzzled by the voices he had heard
for he’d heard his grandchild clearly call his name.
His memory was muzzy but he knew that she had gone
and he’d never see that sweet child’s face again.

Come sail a boat with me Grandpa
the rain puddles are smiling
Come sail away with me on oceans blue.
Come sail the red sail boat with me
there’s room for all aboard her.
Let’s have some fun and explore places new.

His rheumy eyes were closing and his breathing now was slow,
the cheerful fire had dwindled into coals,
a damp and chilly breeze was entering through the open door
and outside dark clouds rode o’er errant shoals.
Beside the man a figure stood, a small girl dressed in red
her hand rested upon his jacket sleeve.
His final breath expired and a smile crept across his face
and his final words were Hello little Maeve.

I’m going to sail a boat with you
see those rain puddles shining.
We’ll hoist the mainsail up so very high
that it will catch the slightest breeze
and carry us to heaven
and we’ll sail together Maeve, just you and I.

They found him in the morning, when the fire had died to ash
and the smiling puddles had all disappeared.
He held clutched in his hand what looked like bright red paper sails
and a photo of a girl who’d volunteered
to wear the uniform and serve in foreign desert sands,
far from the place where she was born and bred.
Beside the chair they found a crumpled yellow telegram -
We regret sir to inform you that young Maeve alas is dead.

Her Bushmaster was travelling
along a desert track,
it hit an IED and all were lost.
No lives alas were saved
and all out here will miss Maeve.
Sadly she paid the very highest cost.
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The Scribbly Bark Poet
see some scribbles here -

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Post by Dreamweaver » 22 Apr 2016, 10:57

Very moving, Mahalia.
I dream, therefore I am.

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Post by Mahalia » 24 Apr 2016, 12:19

Thanks DW - hard to not be moved by these old veterans and their stories.
The Scribbly Bark Poet
see some scribbles here -

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