St Ives

and so it is
that I walk these narrow alleys,
your hand in mine
together with a thousand
that came before us.
My grasp of time opens and shuts
as my brain tries to differentiate
joy from sorrow.
Ever was and ever will be
that happiness and pain
are such easy bedfellows,
as though reflecting the changing seasons
that ease from chaos to splendour
to signify to us that this is,
in fact,
the order of things.
I will drink your scented spell dear St Ives
and keep its sweet taste in my memory.
You have been good to me
and mine.


A

X