THE SUIT                  


This costume of an older me
Does not sit well upon my frame
Each stage with attending uncertainty
Not the suit in which I came

Remembering childhood’s exotic clothes
Allowing oneself the luxury
Recalling pleasures not the woes
To bask in simple reverie

Favourite secret places gone
Quarry, pond and places dark
Different children jump my stones
Their arrows find a different mark

Paths and houses, muted, still
I stand alone amongst my friends
Black against white, a bird stares back
At this version of my earlier self

The memory still astounds me now
For no reason that is plain to tell
A sense of wonder, deep content
My earlier, suit it fit me well


Stuart Williamson         Estero, Feb. 2015 ©