By Pauline Fayne

She learnt young
that he would visit
those not blanketed in sleep
before dark

Risked it once
tight safe in father’s arms
watching for the wishing star
until their whispered vigil
was stilled by mother’s screams
eyes glazed with fear
of the silent man in black
echoing her footsteps
past the old church yard.

The plough would cut the night sky many times
before she saw it again,
while mother’s fears
constant as the moon.

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