A POOL OF DARK IN HIS HANDS
Updated: Apr 16
The shadows that he’d seen
didn’t darken the years
that he 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 country 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 the woods.
To snap that book tight shut
and live in light
took:
the grace of a poet’s pen,
real ale,
red wine
and a lifetime of true love.
