“Leaving” by Louise McCarthy

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One hour until midnight,

A strange and warning silence,

Do we stay – what are the odds though?

Sleep is no defence.


The judgment is to leave,

Sad words will not escape,

Sentiment is beaten,

Just a few things can we take.


A box of precious items –


Photographs, souvenirs,

Silly little trinkets,

A change of clothes, books,

Pillows and some blankets.


Tall trees stand surrendered,

The backdrop of our home,

The sky is red and the air is hot,

And tomorrow is unknown.

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