It was the darkest night by Ceinwen Haydon

I am not a silent poet

It was the darkest night,

in the heart of the winter;

I looked up and saw a voided sky. No moon,

no star,

not even clouds to weep

on the crusted ice that froze the land,

the river, formed floes on the ocean’s waves.


Looking up, I had not seen –

the others


A hand grasped my left,

another my right – palms pressed together:

The chain crossed cracks, ditches, sink holes,

lanes, villages,

highways, cities, counties,




A slow sound silvered, a hum, a murmur,

a buzz, a song, an aria.

We will hold hands in the dead of


Winter will have its time, but

we will have an early spring –

in spite of it all.

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