Arthur Bell Nicholls
Arthur Bell Nicholls – 1818 – 1906. (Husband of Charlotte Brontë)
After the storm… Shiny cobbled Main Street, like rows of fresh
brown loaves glisten beneath the mournful,
sepia sky. Nature’s hand-brushed egg-whites
binding the Brontë twine, tiny rivers flank.
Your faith questioned, you ask the Lord for strength; comfort; reason.
A worn rainbow tires of promise as the broken
clouds usher the sun to safety. Below, the quiet
churchyard, where you wander between vague
headstones, reading the past. Loving thoughts
tied to the memory of Charlotte.
What of your flock, oh Lord?
You remember opening a book in the study one
Sunday after mass, and Shirley falling from the
pages like someone you once loved.
And Charlotte?
This is your God. He arrives with empty hands;
says they are filled with hope; then leaves you
with lambs beneath your feet.
After the storm… Shiny cobbled Main Street, like rows of fresh
brown loaves glisten beneath the mournful,
sepia sky. Nature’s hand-brushed egg-whites
binding the Brontë twine, tiny rivers flank.
Your faith questioned, you ask the Lord for strength; comfort; reason.
A worn rainbow tires of promise as the broken
clouds usher the sun to safety. Below, the quiet
churchyard, where you wander between vague
headstones, reading the past. Loving thoughts
tied to the memory of Charlotte.
What of your flock, oh Lord?
You remember opening a book in the study one
Sunday after mass, and Shirley falling from the
pages like someone you once loved.
And Charlotte?
This is your God. He arrives with empty hands;
says they are filled with hope; then leaves you
with lambs beneath your feet.
