paulhp poetry

her hand rests
gentle on the heather
with it’s thousand silent bells
not persuaded by
the unsettled breeze
to give up a song
but a whisper instead
from the sea

always she waits
pinned like a dusty moth
to a promise and a doubt
her hope chasing the lost
fire of a sunset over
the hungry ocean
a devotion to redeem such
joy in her heart again