The wooden stairs announce their creaking song, notes long and croaked and toneless ‘neath the old man’s heavy, tired and laboured step – they play the last cry of a dead tree conducted by an old bladder’s need for continuous relief. Loud and obtrusive the song of a filed-down forest under foot-found, under carpet, under piano, under sleeping cat and snoring bed, under polished and over-trodden by heavy-heeled tiptoe midnight march. The candlelit chorus that pierces the soft silence of the night. The mournful melancholy moaning moping ‘mongst the counted sheep and rock-a-by baby sleep. A tuneless symphony of pre-dawn wake. (24May11)
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