I reach for a drink,
wet lips on a rim and
eyes look out at an
amateur talent show. There’s snow
on hills and all’s intensely still
when my sons play guitar and start
to sing a new song
about, well, writing a song.
It’s heartily sung,
taking human folly
on a wave of story-sound
and, as I take another mouthful,
my eyes wet. Outside, whiteness
shines in moonlight. I newly realise
- right there in front -
how crucial to defy inevitable
shrinkage and riskstrugglefight
to look out, laugh, expand.
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