Photo by Aron Visuals on Unsplash
Under a full moon,
The cries of curlews
Echo in her brain,
Reminding her - loss.
In her dream that night
She was no longer
A mother, her son
Never existed, he was
But a dream.
The mermaids sang,
But not to her,
She was used to that,
Being an island.
She was the black sheep
After all, different
But the same.
She woke with a start,
Realised all of her
Dreams were true.
However, here as
Always, her son did
Exist, even though
He does not now.
About the Creator
Emma Datson
I am 40ish, medically interesting, Australian poet, who is finally using her voice. My superpower is my vocabulary. Dive in and read an eclectic mix of poetry and creative non-fiction, full of love, grief and hope. Light, love
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