We stroll once more down arbored avenues,
hands overlapped and clasped against the chill;
our talk drifts like woodsmoke over the ‘still
sad music of humanity’ subdued
as a radio droning in another room.
So, it is time to take account again
of our memories, each in their dappled hues.
of silver, bronze and gold now flickering
like sunlight falling for a second time.
Look here – in every corner they accrue,
a king’s ransom, and we shuffle our way
laughing through the fragility of days
already gone, carefree because we know
that this is but the tiniest portion
of what we’ve cached for colder days to come.
You’ll share it all with me, and I with you.
————
