I'm on my way to luncheon.
It's only down the hall.
But at journeys end the shortest way
Seems the longest road of all.
It's most peculiar. These old walls
Were decorated plain.
But the fog dissolves to a distant shore,
As an Emerald Calls my name.
I've journeyed through the decades
Where I've heard the Church bells peel,
From the beachhead of June '44
To The factory gates in Theale.
I grew a garden proud and fair,
With a weeping willow tree.
Where my family played in its summer shade,
It still remembers me.
My trips to Ross have long since stopped,
But the earth salutes them still;
With the ghost of a car, on the shortcut
Down the side of Birdlip Hill.
My travelling days are now long gone,
But my family still recall,
That a ship came back from Guernsey
With contraband alcohol
I don't know how they'll judge me,
When my final furlong's run
But an echoing stranger’s voice talks
Of a gentle Gentleman.
I was a handsome charmer, now
I've supped time's cruel pill.
But that glint in my eye, as you pass me by
Is shining from me still.
I learned it from my father,
Snooker was my game
Now friends have all gone home
I’m tired; I've played my final frame.
I'm on my way to luncheon.
A familiar smell wafts by,
The scent of overcooked
Roast beef, the tang of apple pie.
I'm on my way to luncheon,
I drop my frame and fall.
I hear the siren whisper
Of a distant dancer's call.
I'll leave you all in peace now,
But I don't want any tears,
And I don't want any fuss now,
When you toast my passing years.
In Memory of Ben William Warner who would have been 100 on the day of posting
