It is too often now
that I think how rare
the silent night, free
of wailing sirens,
post-pub songs,
lads kicking dustbins
down the road for fun.

How many of those meek few
who keep the silence in-
between? In chippies,
pharmacies, canteens?

They know the fragility,
of quietness, those who
cup silence like an old
mouse, a downed sparrow,
and keep it close
to their chests.