All my own work. C. J. Black

The Sound of Death.

By C. J. Black.

 

We stood and listened, waiting for that call

Hand in Hand as I recall

Relishing this time alone

Then as one we heard it – OCHON, OCHON.

 

The wailing sound, like that of the Banshee

Travelling on the wind across the briny sea

The elders told us many times it was the call of death

That a relation or dear friend was drawing their last breath.

 

We took little notice of what the elders had to say

Our philosophy was, sure we’ll all pass on one day

That is no consolation for those that are left behind –

The moral of this poem is, always heed your elders and to all you know, be kind.

C. J. Black

10/10/2013 23:07:34

 

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2 thoughts on “All my own work. C. J. Black

    1. Many thanks again Marie, I have no idea really where the inspiration for my scribbling comes from – I will continue going to the ink well until it runs dry – hopefully I can continue to keep you entertained – if I can be so bold as to say such a thing.

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