She knelt there in the courtyard,

Her head slightly tilted,

Resting against the gnarled piece of oak,

Hair wafting in the breeze, her collar akimbo,

The murmur of people, scent of the river,

In peripheral vision, a glimpse of buttercups,

Approaching footsteps, she shivers,

A hush, as long shadow creeps over her,

A whispered ‘Amen’, then not so much as a whimper,

The executioner had done his job well,

England’s axe had spoken.

Tranquillity

Through the tendrils of my being, a vision flaunts itself

A thousand passive whispers announce a new day

She appears as if from the early morning mist

Her sleek form gracefully chasing the unicorn

Gently her footsteps thread their way through the waving grasses

Dawn ascends announcing a new day

Lazy clouds scurry across an azure sky

As if tracing God’s signature above the world

Finality

Lying there, crumpled twisted

I take you in my warm hands

Coaxing you to respond

Encouraging you to revive

A tiny movement transpires

As you emerge

From your most secret place

My endeavours rewarded

I rejoice, a final gasp

As the last secretions

Of toothpaste splutter forth!

© Terry Sorby