Pale FolkA Poem by A.A.
Above a town of rolling rooves There is a room, leaking light Like haze from high windows out; A bluff against the winter sky Where three lost souls keep company.
They sit together, timorously, 'round the window on three sides; Melancholy, Dour, and Sad But talking, laughing, miming - And who would be the first to sigh?
But the joke falls flat. A gust Echoes through the February air Like a long breath rattling in the teeth. And a silence creeps in, unawares, That no-one can do anything with.
How fast the hours go, they think. How few remain! The year, they know, will draw them down, Down into the streets and parks as it unfurls. They'll chase the tail of life again, Find and lose their way, following the trail
Whilst in their empty room the sun Will press in rudely through the pane; Pasting sky onto the back walls In great triangles, like murals Of the world before the fall
As though to illuminate The hardship and the spoil. Hence three friends sit in heavy quiet Awaiting what feels like the end - Until the conversation splutters back to life again.
In the room, the sun goes down. Yellow light leaks into the dark And away across the streets and tracks. The atmosphere eases as they talk. Three of many, pale folk.
© 2014 A.A.Author's Note
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