While going through some old papers, like many a writer, I find fragments of things I’ve written over the years, mostly poems, sometimes stories, and sometimes rants. This one is in a melancholy mood, reminding me of my first nostalgic recognition that time was catching up with me and could soon run out.

 

 

 

“Grow old along with me,”  you said

Sipping tea, aromatic with bergamot

Steam rising like a ghost,

I smiled,

Ready to join you on that journey

 

We ran across

Piano keys playing seconds

Racing up and down the scale

The assonances picked up

Wedding rings and kisses

Children

Sharps and flats.

 

The melody of spring time

Chased by summer’s desertification

Of our lives

That

And the first grey hair in my mirror.

 

Forgotten by the time autumn

Had ripened our fruit

Sent dandelion children

Floating on the breeze

 

Again I fill your cup of tea

Just one now, no sugar

Still bergamot flavoured

With steam

Escaping like warm breath

At the start of winter’s chill.