on walking past our old house at christmas

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I stand, a ghost outside the house that was our home.

A lonely spy, I see inside because the lights are on.

A cosy glow, a radiance I find hard to see

now we’re not there, a home no more for you and me.

 

The new folk there, I hope they have a happy time.

Its Christmas soon, and cards are hanging on a line

above the hearth, and there’s a tree with lights.

I stand outside, I shiver in the night.

 

If you came back, unhesitating to this place

in hopes to hear my voice or see my face

what would you think, as you stood puzzled there,

where have I gone, or am I anywhere?

 

Well darling please, don’t worry about me

I have my son, and we’ve a smaller tree.

A quiet Christmas and I’ll think of you

I carry on, as all quiet widows do.

I’ve moved away, but haven’t gone too far

so find me still, I’ll keep the door ajar . . . .

◄ my mum

my cat's audrey hepburn ►

Comments

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Greg Freeman

Sun 6th Dec 2009 21:16

Beautiful, tingly. I'll say no more

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