Duncannon, a stranger called

Duncannon, a stranger called.

We were happily pottering in our little

seaside garden. It was a fine Spring day.

Plants were placed, watering almost done,

proof against the drought,

when quite suddenly he was there.

IMG_4879

He was not expected.  My wife was

the one who noticed him.  She asked,

“what do you make of that?”

At first I did not know what it was

she meant, but looking up from

my work I too saw him close at hand.

He was silent, it seemed he spoke

in ways we could not comprehend.

We were quiet then, as he was.

The only sounds heard were the hushed

murmurs of the little waves gently falling

on Duncannon’s nearby strand.

“We should offer him food,”she said,

then added, “and something

to drink, perhaps he’s thirsty.”

Food and water we placed before him

Keeping a wary eye on us he drank

with evident relish.  Still silence held,

no-one saying anything.  We

watched him as he watched us.

He wore some form of I.D. bracelet, but the

writing was too small, to us almost invisible.

When the water was gone the pigeon

flew away, our little visitor who seemed

to know that we would offer water to

a stranger, even in a drought.

Author: connellykevin

Writer, poet and photographer. Lover of all musical genres, from acoustic to zydeco. Born in Ireland of Scottish descent and proud of both. "I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so" WB YEATS Many of the themes here presented and to be presented have taken me a lifetime rather than six weeks. Some have taken mere moments to arrive. All are offered freely and it is my hope that you, dear reader, will gain something by browsing here and that I in turn will gain something by presenting these works to you.

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