By George

You lie still as a stone,
Quiet as a mouse—
But then, so is anyone
Who is deep in thought.
Time’s tight, and you’ve got
A lot to get through.

Is it strange now,
Tracing love’s threads
Without a calendar to guide you?
Do you still see beauty
In the small things—
Clean sheets, the sea, a good Stilton?
Do you remember
Making daisy chains as a child,
Or pushing your pram
Through Christmas snow
With your father?

Don’t worry—
Crying’s part of the deal.
It’s not me, it’s you,
To turn a phrase.
I’ll try to believe,
Like you do,
That the darkness has arms,
Wrapping you up warm,
Keeping you company.

Just drop by
From time to time,
Sit with me in my thoughts,
So I can feel you near.
Your hand in mine,
A gentle squeeze,
Like when I was small.