There is much comfort found here,
in the familiar, like a favourite jumper,
that no longer fits, yet is kept still,
but not for its warmth or look.
This place slides easily to mind’s eye,
chased by hurtling memory,
alight with perfect clear.
All is as was and will ever be,
for neither time’s blanching, nor decay’s
pestilence can gain purchase on
The soot sullied stone with scars still,
laurel and beech ageless,
shadowing the mullioned glow of fire and light,
are not frozen, not trapped, just elsewhere,
an elsewhere that allows me
to stand again, beside you,
there on the step, where a boy often sat,
and postmen knelt to deliver chance,
where I learnt of life from you both,
of its many smiles and ways.
We know it is a finite treasure,
of dread determination,
and unswerving course,
yet endure the pain of loss.
For in the end it is small coin
to pay for such a loan.