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So this is how the dawn comes;

quietly; not with a burst of sunlight

to the singing, but creeping

silently across the curtains as I lie

and think and think

of you.

And I suppose this is birdsong;

breaking through the edges of

the words I hear, the voice I hear;

not gathering and swelling on and

on, but coming gently with a whistle here

and here.

It is cold at break of day. And soon

it will be morning and the first car door will

clump; the necessary food must meet

the plate, and yet another day another

day begins, in which I seem to be


Strange how I have never seen the dawn

before and how it is just you

and me who face it after all.

But that is just another way another

way of saying how the dawn comes; quietly,

without you.

From Something the Heart Can't Hold (Poetry Nottingham Publications, 1995)

© Cathy Grindrod

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