three echoes


standing at the verge
he threw his voice
as far across the gap
as his strength would allow

hand shading his brow
he watched
as it arced elegantly
and returned


timidly she approached
near to the edge
uncertainty radiating
then listened

she took one further pace forward
threw her arms back
and smiled

the whistle of the wind sang her name
to the tune
of home


he danced in the night
on a cliff top
with nothing to say
no call

there was silence
apart from the speech of a small fire
but he needed no sound
to belong

he felt in his being
he’d been heard

© Frank Prem, 201

8 thoughts on “three echoes

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