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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527745" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Dottie Stirs at Dawn</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dottie stirs as dawn light seeps <br>through the bedroom curtains; <br>Willie breathes deeply in his sleep. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Sammy, who had arrived with <br>her brother Willie the night before, <br>sleeps in the guest room along <br>the passage. She listens to the birds <br>singing from the garden, watches <br>as the seeping sunlight plays on <br>the duvet covers like mischievous <br>children. She is happy; Willie is back, <br>Sammy has arrived with his talk of <br>the city, his books, the poems, but <br>nothing of his wife or son or daughter. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They had been up late with talk and <br>laughter and she had studied Sammy, <br>and was, she admits to herself, a little <br>envious of his wife to have one such <br>as he, when maybe it ought, she feels, <br>to have been her. But she has Willie. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She will always have him. He stirs then <br>turns over. She watches his breathing, <br>how his hand lies on the duvet, his <br>fingers still, the nails just so, neat <br>and trimmed. She had missed him; <br>missed him being there, reciting his <br>poems, and she writing them down, <br>their walks, their laying under the trees <br>watching the sky, or by their small lake <br>studying the birds, the ducks, swans <br>or occasional dragonfly. She looks at <br>the bedside clock. She will make them <br>breakfast and a pot of tea and go <br>breathe in the morning air, remember <br>the night. Willie had kissed her eyelids <br>shut to help her sleep. She can still <br>feel his lips there. She runs a finger <br>along his arm, making a snail like <br>move as if along a leaf or flower top. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She has missed him so. The tears she <br>had shed. The laying awake those nights <br>he was away. The headaches, the bleeds, <br>the monthly curse. She pauses her finger. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">She has reached his hand; she rests her <br>hand on his, lets it lay. Oh for a fresh <br>morning, she whispers, oh for a new day.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Terry+Collett">Terry Collett</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=527745" data-title="Dottie Stirs at Dawn de Terry Collett" data-description="Dottie stirs as dawn light seeps 
through the bedroom curtains; 
Willie breathes deeply in his sleep. 

Sammy, who had arrived with 
her brother Willie the night before, 
sleeps in the guest room along 
the passage. She listens to the birds 
singi..."></div>
</div>
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