A hoarse whisper danced about
the dark and dust filled air.
A rustle among the shadows
pilfered the silence.
The hair stood up on the back of the neck
of everyone standing in the dark,
of a world never meant to be inhabited
by the living.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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