Colin F. Jones

I HEAR THE STORM BIRD IN THE NIGHT

Moonlight through the window pane,
The shadows shrouding me again,
As I lie here quietly in my bed…
My arm across the mattress spread.
I hear the storm bird in the night,
And the wagtail chirping with delight,
As the silver clouds pass through the sky,
And I alone here wait and cry.
I can almost hear the thunder now,
As I feel sharp pain across my brow,
And in my heart and soul I moan,
For you will not be coming home.
I draw my arm from where it lies,
On the cold, cold mattress of your sighs.