The Peace from her sleep

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Beyond the peace that flowed from her sleep
Was a dark room, a cold place.
Deeply moved by kind wishes,
We stood in the tidal grief,
Washing us into sand,
Ground down by the apparent eternity,
Of her brief life.

The tide always left parts of us near whole.
Heart or mind or soul or tears
But never all at once.
Only memory.
And even that is washing away.

Tim Smith

I write for money. Have done for decades. I've written about music, sport, cooking, games. I'm also a data miner who knows one end of a taxonomy from another. Feel free to get in touch.