IAN MORTIMER


  

  

Despite Everything (1991)

for my mother

It is never truly dark. You can still see
something, if only a shadow, of a tree
which spreads its twigs like torn lace
against the sky. Silence too is never

absolute. Even in the quietest night
you can still hear an owl or a train
beyond the trees; you can always hear
something stir on this side of the stars.

Take heart from this when you lay awake
and dream of what may never come to pass.
Not even the wind can blow utterly cold.
No one is ever forgotten. I think of you

and the great crescendo of another day
lifts its arms to pray that we in turn
might still have hope. So make a wish;
it will in some small way come true.

   

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