Though I am old I can recall their
quiet repose – a subtle silence sung
as only sirens can upon a counter
in our dusty country store
Crammed with magic things to chew
in colours bent on luring eyes made
visits bliss awaiting enterprise in
naive shades of sublimated taste
Confectionery jars of olden days
conveyed illicit dreams to me, sweets
forbid unless indeed an unexpected
treat expressed as rare largesse
Feelings all returned and flaunted
memories the day I chanced to see
an empty jar; where did you find it I
enthuse – too graphically I guess
A market stall had sold this one he
smiled – a gaunt and haunted smile
while she denied it would be filled
with every gaudy sweet for kids
A gift intended for a child no less
granddaughter Penny who was blessed
an angel’s countenance and doted
on her dear grandad
It’s for my ashes he confides when
cancer runs its course, I’ll die before
a year is gone and she agrees – while
I am compromised with grief
Shocked to silence like a fool who’s
fallen off his feet – my only thought
composed in quiet rapport; His soul
at least will rest in sweetest peace
© 11 May 2010, I. D. Carswell
