nobody asks her the time as the day passes slowly.
Children run, shout, fall, or was that yesterday?
Tomorrow is a far away country watching the brook flow.
All of a somewhere a siren sounds.
Mothers alarmed, gather loved ones.
It's quiet again, the 'all clear' must have sounded,
Sylvia trembles, she forgot her gas mask.
That long ago? Was it one of ours?
Where have they gone? It's starting to rain.
Sylvia listens to the gentle pitter patter,
sitting all alone at dusk on a bench by the brook.
Capability Red July 2013
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