The night the clocks went back
A storm unwound itself above the roof
Till the gutter broke from it’s fixing
And everything ran away.
I lay listening to the mice
Make their manoeuvres beneath the floor,
Stacking sugar packets as tiny sandbags
While the rain brushed back and forth
Like a widow sweeping out an empty attic
Some time around dawn it grew so quiet,
You’d swear you could hear the spiders
Re-lacing their webs in the dark.
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