| THREE OR SO Is that child in the snapshot me? That little girl in the cotton dress By a broken door in a tiny yard She's shy and laughing and ready to run And shielding her eyes from the morning sun. I've forgotten the dress, and the colour of it I've forgotten who took the photograph I've forgotten the little girl, three or so She's someone else now, to be wondered at With my mother's eyes and my own child's hair And my brother's smile, but the child who's there -- The real soul of her -- fled long ago To the alley-way where she musn't go Through the broken door in that tiny yard. Rough men on motorbikes, not to be looked at Scrawny cats scratching, not to be touched Down to the railway line, never to go there Nor up the road where the traffic rushed Stay close in the yard with the sun in your eyes Come and be still for your photograph. I can hear now the drone of those bikes And the loud voices of the men And the howl of the tomcats on their prowl I can hear the scream and shush of the train And the whooshing of traffic on the road. But the summer buzz in that tiny yard And the child who laughed with her best dress on And the voice that told her to stand in the sun And the click that pressed the shutter down Have gone As if they had never been. (Author: Berlie Doherty) |
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| Page created by Ryette 7/02 Reviewed January 2004 |
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