By Sam Rapp

There is hope as I look out of my window,
Ghost towns and cities, pity, empty.
There is hope that laughter will be heard again.
I heard it from the roof tops in Italia
Opera, theatre, late night chatting,
Children laughing, families talking

Hope, that I can feel the sun on my face, as I run through,
Fields of sunflowers, smiling at me, overshadowing me,
I dart in between their giant stalks, take off my shirt and lay down
There are no sounds, just birds singing, horses neighing dogs barking, and insects moving on the ground.

I stare up at the sky, and see a single bird of prey hovering
Her mass wingspan captures her beautiful colours,
I count the clouds, there are seven, just moving about, trying to hide the sun, as she beams light onto a mass of yellow growing.

There is silence now, it is getting late, the night has come and all the houses are illuminated, no one is out apart from me
I best get ready to sing my song
It’s called

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