A Lancashire Wake
Briskly now, she bid her farewells;
Varied shades in silent black file past,
Gloved hands bear silver plattered fancies;
"No waste, no waste now, take them all"
They'd planned the spread together,
It was only right it should be eaten,
Sliced boiled tongue, his favourite
"O yes, have the cakes and those pies,
Fresh baked this very morning"
Smiling, she hardly noticed nods,
Tiny touches across blinked void
Where she laughed with his memory,
Waltzing past grey solid state lives;
Gliding in grace with faithful love
Through kirkyard, to their fields beyond.
For A & P
minor edit 29.04.09