Our morning star.

　
　
Your tea's ready David,
that dream of love,
white linen, china and silver,
the heart of the family, the giver.

Happy in the house on the hill,
that perfect packed school trunk,
on the way to Wales,
a colour sergeant would have approved,
hand sewn with Cash's labels, time in mind.

Always there when I was away with the faeries,
mistle thrush on the lawn,
comfort for the newborn,
summer streams through the trees.

With the holiday fellowship and your new husband,
to Belgium after the war was over,
a mini car,
a pressure cooker,
a cashmere sweater,
a wool skirt,
a photograph of your mother in an Edwardian silver frame,
a trip to the Cymau,
sunday dinner with grandmother in Bordesley Green,
Colin fixing cars on the drive,
dear Lynda learning the art of pastry making,
a beautiful granddaughter,
holidays in Porthdinllaen,
ban the bomb.

At rest now with all the past,
remembering the good days,
all our ways,
the farm in the valley on the hill,
the light of the May;

the sunshine reminds me of you.

~