Spilt Dreams

“Sing to me! ”
you sigh

resting your head
on my lap.

I stroke your hair
as outside

on the Yorkshire Moors

a storm
towers majestically

above our
frail fragile love.

I sing
unevenly inexpertly

all the Rodgers & Hart
songs I can sing

out of tune & brokenly

keep the storm at bay
with nothing but the love

in my voice

your sleeping hair
spilt like dreams

across my lap.

poem by Dónall Dempsey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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