Wednesday, 22 June 2011

Before I was born,

he gave me a ticket, nodded his head.

‘Get on the train,’ he sighed ‘get out of bed.

‘Pick up your feet and your rucksack.’ he said

‘Get bred!’

Funny, harsh and kind

- sort of divine -

he gave no charity, or bind,

I signed.

Hands, eyes, mouth, nose, ears,

laughter and tears;

he sent me downstairs

for ninety odd years.