Inside the hall a soprano sang,
her lieder deluding us,
our somnambulism mocking sleep.
In her voice a sadness grew
like rainclouds without rain.
Someone coughed,
someone scraped a chair,
as a mild explosion of applause
muffled the roars from the Falls Road
where songs of freedom
encored their farewell.
Categorized as Poems

By Arthur Richardson

Very part time poem maker. Retired from paid work.

Leave a comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: