Dawn Remembered

It is late at night, almost morning; the silence is as noisy as high tide washing over the pebbled shore. Gloom hangs in the air like a horse blanket covering a nag`s rain-sodden back. Tomorrow is the first of October; years have been piling up on me, this quiet messenger of spent youth and yesterday's ghosts I have done my best to ignore, are back mocking me. Dawn, a cockerel crows I hope my neighbour will kill it and eat it for his Sunday lunch. The intrusive unvoiced is like watching a black & white reel of my life, a litany of failures. Sigh, I didn`t get to meet Marilyn Monroe. This moment when I Should take stock of my life, all I can think about is to buy for the fire Monday morning