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Love conquers all (and spellchecks can sometimes be a waste of time!) Written for inclusion in a friend’s book in 2006. Much of the book’s story was set in Holland during WW2 when children were used as couriers – so called ‘ child soldiers’.
She sits beside me as I type, but no-one can see her – we are alone.
She smiles when I type her name, and broadcasts a loving smile.
There is a serenity to this woman – a peace that is rare to find,
an openness too – a big heart; bigger than her halo of golden hair.
She does not always join me – leaving me here to the magic of my Dyn,
sometimes to the pain of a stubborn empty page, or my tears of empathy.
She once asked me, “What is the point?” and although I said we never know, never,
the absurdity was me telling her such things!
Some days we listen to the music. I can see her absorb melody like wine…
no, like nectar… enriching, delighting; for her it is like manna from heaven.
And when some beautiful chord of sound brightens up my room, she says it,
six little words that I know she so desperately wants to hear.
Yesterday, as the sun was setting behind the surrounding trees, she cried.
Had I not turned and looked at her, I would not have known,
there were no audible sobs, just sad green eyes and wet alabaster cheeks…
and drips; salty drips that made the floor tiles wet.
I did not need to ask the reason, for there was anger in the air around us.
What she – they – had endured, beyond all reason, beyond all sanity, beyond,
was spilled across the screen; a vermilion slash of cruel words that questioned
her ending, and thus her beginning. And so, I defended her – for her…
…her beloved tochter.
© Allen Ansell 2022