stac polly
wester ross
a still april evening
in perfect visibility
i observed the four compass points
no littered streets or lampposts here
no graffiti tattooed walls
no chimney pots or tower blocks
the only blocks that towered here
were sandstone
home to hawk and eagle
carved by the chisel of nature
in acres of sky
bereavement
had drawn me like a magnet
five hundred miles from home
just long enough to stand in leave-taking
and place on the cairn
a stone
Jennifer
I had a date with Jennifer,
When I was just fifteen.
We went to The Odeon, Erith,
To see “Cliff” up on the screen.
He sang about “The Young Ones,”
And that included us,
And when the film was over,
Went home on the “99” Bus.
I kissed her on her doorstep,
She said, “I cannot go.”
”Why…Do you love me that much?”
“No…You’re standing on my toe!”
The Cost of Love
Bereavement is the cost of love,
and love it breaks the heart,
when sickness or long years lay claim,
as dearest ones depart.
Remembering that last caress,
before the day is lost,
in a life of loving tenderness,
where sorrow weighs the cost.
A lifetime, perhaps a swift short span,
our way is not to know,
the mystery of each journeys plan,
stray pilgrims we must go.
But we are born to carry on,
not knowing the scenes ahead,
yet every tear holds a silver gleam,
as we seek our daily bread.
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