Weekly writing prompt #289 from

Prompt words in red.


When night is never-ending,

and time hangs heavy in the air,

the sound of rain

on my window

is always

the sound of the singing

of the thrush.

Or so I imagine.

I know,

as I make my way back to bed,

this last time, as the first,

there is no thrush.

Only specters,

lightly tapping on the glass.

  ©2020 Lisa Smith Nelson. All Rights Reserved



  1. ...or it could be tree branches pleading to come inside out of the cold! Forgive my for that as your poem reads beautifully.

    1. It could be! I think that would sound as frightening as a specter. Scritch-Scratch on the glass in the night!

  2. I love how you switch the gentleness of day into a rather ominous night

    1. Night is so easily ominous. It never mattered my mother said there wasn't anything in the dark that could harm me more than in the day! Thanks, mom. She also said that it wasn't the dead that could hurt me, it was the living. Lovely.


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