A quite audience, easily forgotten
The passing of winter rain

Stretch and strain, back to my game
Oblivious once again

Yet your pall remains,
A kiss of mist upon the soul
A sentinel
Of chestnut, oak and magpie’s lair

The cross you bare, a gentle snag
From times when you were elsewhere

A golden wave crashes down
Heavens glory reflected, here

The soft rustle of recent gift
A reminder that we care

She woke upon the plain, all distant and alone
Nostalgia stirred the air, an acrid smell like hope
Lofty goals and grand ambition,
To them a dullards joke

A shift to foot, and all is healed
As happy as could be
All wishes granted, all needs fulfilled
For all eternity

Wistful thoughts are stopped at source
Still before mind’s eye a question brought,
Is it heavens crèche or hell itself
Upon our kin we’ve wrought?