I hear the voice of dreams
And sniff the scent of memory.
Your touch, your noise, your smell.
How cruel is life as his mask now beams
Upon my broken heart
That’s turned into a shell.
Linda Hurdwell has been a widow for 5 years. She has two adult sons. Living in the English countryside, she takes her dog, Bessie, for a daily walks and that's where many of her poems and stories are born. She has always loved writing and has a few short stories published. Although now a pensioner, she enjoys working with adults with learning disabilities and running a mencap social club once a week. Her hobbies are writing, tap dancing, and going to the theatre or cinema with my friends.