Poetry

Upon Receiving a Wartime Letter of Condolence



The hand that had caressed him
Now held a pen she kept for best.
When she was a child,she would lose herself,
In the cloudy blue grey swirls of its shaft.
The words would not come at first.
Then hesitantly they arrived.
‘much appreciated’; ‘great comfort’;
So thoughtful’.

There was to be a child a heart beat
held in her as the sea now mothered
What had been hers and hers alone
under the waves,with his shipmates
‘all pals together’ .

They said it was a lucky shot, that broke
His ship in two,Lucky for some,She thought
licking and sealing. the unscented envelope.


© Bernard Pearson

Bernard Pearson

Author Bernard Pearson

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