Friday, October 3, 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"


3 comments:

  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...

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

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

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