Friday, 3 October 2014

A dusty scrapbook

I’d been gone so long
But I was back home again
For the funeral

Forty years now passed
I had changed, the town had changed
But I still belonged

There was the old church
The park, the river of youth
There the market square

Once I was a choirboy
Always on my bicycle
Playing with my mates

No eulogies said
My mother’s friends now all gone
Her son a stranger

My back felt a tap
And the she uttered my name
“I knew you mum well”

She had a kind face
Worn by many a summer
“I’ve something for you”

After the service
She took me back to her place
“Why don’t you sit down?”

With a cup of tea
She offered a piece of cake
“Forgive me” she smiled

“She said this is yours
It’s so full of photographs
Her dusty scrapbook"


  1. There is always someone kind when you find home in the real sense of the word...kind people..belonging...i am glad the scrapbook still remains...carries on...

  2. So lovely. Reminds me of times gone by.

  3. It is sobering to think of what remains after a life, and how ephemeral even those small tokens really are.