The juxtaposition of medieval ecclesiastical stone
And post war overspill residential brick
Is still there, even if it can hide
In Christmas Eve lights.

The cold still feels the same after
The passing of too much life, and
Too few miles to get away from it.
Enough has changed to ensure that I cannot
Forget that this stopped being home.

Somehow, I do not remember her
Leaving, though I remember knowing
That she had gone. Even though I did not
Try to retain her in my memory,
My ever helpful brain chose to store
An image of her as beautifully clear
As her voice.

While I have long forgotten the words,
The reasons, all the things that
Could help me to resolve the equations
Eighteen years on, I still keep
The song, her smile, and my silence,
Safe in the amber that preserves
All that was never meant to be.

How am I older now that
She was then? Perhaps the time has come
For me to discover the delights of
Listening to Jim Reeves in the bath,
And to raise my voice in song again.

She was always wrapped up against
The cold back then: I hope she has
A loving heart to keep her warm,
And a cosy home in which to hide
From the long winter nights.

In my mind’s eye, she is
Spreading joy and gladdening hearts
Wherever she is.

01/09/2017

Posted on 01/16/2017
Copyright © 2024 Richard Vince