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Eleanor Fox Poem
A little girl so coy and sweet
Used to wander in the street
Her little dress and shawl she’d wear
She’d skip and run without a care
Her hair about her face would fly
As wind blew clouds across the sky
The sun would shine above the city
Warm upon her face so pretty
There with friends she’d sing a song
A ring-of-roses all day long
Her doll she’d carry everywhere
Made by her mam who'd brought her there
Where had she gone, where was she now;
To give her comfort, to cool her brow?
Lying there upon her stretcher
Desperate for mam to come and fetch her
With pustules oozing, a putrid stink
In inky blackness her eyes would blink
She waited for the sound of feet
Perhaps dry, stale bread for her to eat
Shoved below the heavy door
On a plate, upon the floor
But she’d become too weak to stand
To get the food she’d need a hand
Fear of illness, fear of death
Fear of such a young ones breath
Prevented them from coming in
Barred her from seeing friend or kin
Stuffy and close the room was small
No one seemed to care at all
Her doll they’d wrenched out of her arms
And burned it to avail their qualms
No traces of disease would spread
Remaining sealed away instead
She longed again the world to see,
She lay there waiting patiently
She thought for her they’d surely come
Her father a merry tune would hum
Drifting in and out of sleep
No more tears of loneliness to weep
Nothing but a feeble moan
For she was left there all alone
Below the new you’ll find a room
Timeworn and hidden in the gloom
It’s there you’ll feel her presence nigh
It’s there she lay abandoned to die
When you have to leave and go
Quiet footsteps behind you tiptoe
She follows you a little way
She waits for you to turn and say,
“Take my hand and come with me.
Into the light… walk, be free.”
But solitary and confined she’s made to stay
As aeons pass and flit away
Forsaken child of the distant past,
I pray God frees your soul at last.
Copyright © Eleanor Fox | Year Posted 2011
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Details |
Eleanor Fox Poem
Hand in hand with the breaking pink light of dawn,
A light east breeze dances on tiptoes upon the water’s surface.
I stand on the wooden deck, looking out onto the quiet bay,
Scattered boats gently sway in their moorings.
Making me feel like I am flying amongst them - a bird on a wing,
Flocks of terns swoop and rise in graceful circles close beside me.
Dexterously stepping over the green covered rocks on the shore, three white egrets are here too;
They keenly pick out their breakfast in the lapping tide.
With a swoop and fall, a cormorant dives deftly into the water and disappears,
Moments later the bird emerges several metres away as if out of nowhere.
In a display of alternating flashes of grey and brilliant white,
Plovers so small and so swift turn and glide in controlled unison.
I glance northwards towards a distant gentle hum,
There great ships are silhouetted in the waking harbour.
I stand and breathe in true appreciation;
Oh, the magnificent beauty of this new day.
Copyright © Eleanor Fox | Year Posted 2012
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