Dunoon is written on a wooden plate
That now lies in the dark cellar
If it didn’t get lost too
During the last change of address
Like a great deal in my life
Dunoon was written on a wooden plate
That once hung on a cottage wall
Of my mother Vera’s house
Where I met her after many years
And saw my brother the first time
Dunoon was written on a wooden plate
When Vera moved in to the house by the sea
In a foreign country to pursue happiness
That got lost during the Second World War
Whereupon I had to live in a children’s home
Dunoon was written on a wooden plate
Painted with white characters
On that pitch black lacquered plate
Now it’s written in my memory
Dunoon on gleaming bottom of soul
Dunoon was written on a wooden plate
That I have kept all the lonely years
For what I do not know exactly myself
Today time heals deepest wounds
Tomorrow furiously it rips again many
Dunoon is written on a wooden plate
From the white cottage of my late mother
Who I wasn’t allowed to see often in life
Houses should all be given a name
Hence the memory sounds nicer
© ~ Sonja Nic Rafferty
Dunoon is a town in Scotland. I met my natural mother after years of intense search in her cottage DUNOON at the south coast of England. The first owner of the house came from Dunoon. When I cleared up her cottage after her death in 1992 I took a black and white wooden plate on which was written DUNOON to Germany. Yesterday it inspired me to write this poem.
Kommentar des Autoren
Alle Rechte an diesem Beitrag liegen beim Autoren. Der Beitrag wurde auf e-Stories.org vom Autor eingeschickt Sonja Nic Rafferty.
Veröffentlicht auf e-Stories.org am 12.12.2004.
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