Martin Robertson

Now and Then

A poem you may like to see

Watching the children shouting in the pool

a powerful hurt hits me

that Cecil can’t hear, see,

can’t watch the change, the growth.  But after all

it won’t be long before I’m out of it too.

That’s how it goes.  More than grieve for her

missing, love what she had and was, is,

and live this for her while I’m here.

And if, as is most likely, you

live on after me, please

keep me with you that way.

I don’t say

don’t grieve.  Of course you will.  But share

what matters with me (you will) as though I’m there.