Maelstrom my gift to you was wrapped so slow years in the making with worry and woe sit it on your night table close to your head watch it through the dark through the sleep you so dread and at four and twenty
as the stillness spirals down when you ghost into gloom and your spirits numbly drown open it gently, softly, quietly, and with care then feel the bitter cold emptiness and bleakly join me there
Eamonn O’Hanlon