All these years, confused and bereft.
Dying so young with harsh grief left.
But they still will come if you catch their eyes.
Six it says,  so hard to count
when they play around your feet.
To small to fear,
so wanting to be loved.

Meant to see them Yesterday,
let them down.
Forgot.
Margaret wouldn't,
She'd be there, and James,
in the distance, old but smiling.
To  say hello
to their six wee babies in the snow.

Keep me a spot,
for in years to come,
I'll stand watching
with your Dad and Mum.