left arrow

centre space

left arrow

Trad Night

by K. Kylyra Ameringer


Hands like sea shells

Crowd around the coals

Can anyone hear them?

They struggle with their strings

Strumming the minutes down

Candlelight spotting them

All they ask

Is a moment of your ear's time

Are we in tune?

The people on the benches don't care

The melody rides them away

Far from their hard seats

And half-filled pints

Lost lives left behind

For the proprietor to sweep away