The Pennyfeather Lane

The Pennyfeather lane
is dark, cold and weary.
Not a soul in sight
at this time of night.
All I can hear is my own breathing.
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck.
Coldness spreads through the lane.
I’d love to be by the fire.
Being alone
scares me
so much.
Why can’t you be near me?
If I screamed
right now
at the top of my lungs –
would anyone actually hear me?

About the Author

Melanie Byrne

Melanie Byrne is 17 years old and is currently in sixth year in Abbey Community College. Her interests include writing poetry, playing the piano and the ukulele. She has appeared twice in Rhyme Rag.