Penelope by Joan Ursula Penton Lock Wood Vaughan Williams

Certain parting does not wait its hour
For separation; too soon the shadow lies
upon the heart and chokes the voice, its power
drives on the minutes, it implies
tomorrow while today’s still here.

They sat by firelight and his shadow fell
for the last time, she thought, black patterning gold
sharp on the firelit wall. So, to compel
the evening to outlast the morning’s cold
dawn by the quayside and the unshed tears,

she took a charred twig from the hearth and drew
the outline of his shadow on the wall.
‘These were his features, this the hand I knew.’
She heard her voice saying the words through all
the future days of solitude and fear.

From: http://preferreading.blogspot.com/2014/03/sunday-poetry-ursula-vaughan-williams.html

Date: 1945

By: Joan Ursula Penton Lock Wood Vaughan Williams (1911-2007)

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