The shadows he’d seen
did not darken the days
that he'd helped with our wellies,
lifted us up over dykes and stiles
and carried doll's prams and bikes
when we got tired.
It was light from the stars that led him
along frost-bitten lanes
towards the docks and factories
where he worked
to keep the wolf from the door
and dinner in the pot.
But there were shadows.
We knew that.
We learnt of chains and blackened streets,
a pointing board outlined in red
and shuddered
as our chanting brought
the Bright Toothed Beelers
from their beds.
To snap that book shut
and live in light
took: the grace of a poet’s pen,
real ale, red wine
and a lifetime of true love.
