Apple Pie

I long to dip my feet just once more
in that pleasure garden of life.
To let them frolic about, peeping under the shadows
of the lily leaves, creating mayhem
amongst the wild life there.
Then to sit back giggling, like a school girl
on her
first real date.

To untie my long auburn hair as you once did,
whilst kissing soft,
the morning air caring not one jot
that the  neighbours may sit to stare.
With my arms full to bursting with
riots of flowers
in all the colours, of Jacobs coat.
To be
allowed to abstain –
from that oh so tedious work
routine, spending time instead
with -  you!

There is this strong urge in me
to skip to the local shop,
buy
penny sweets from the large
round jar, then stand outside
munching them in carefree rapture.

I sit to remember that lovely newish red dress, made
from my Sisters
old winter cloak.
I couldn’t have cared less –
it
looked so very fine on me.
Then when you come for
your
Sunday tea – only me – did you see.
I spoon fed you my lustful eyes
played footsie, whilst you ate your apple
pie -
praying like mad, you didn’t drop your food
because
Mother so hated a mess.

I  can still taste it, like it was only yesterday.
if I turn to catch the
breeze I swear you are
standing close, fresh linen was
always
your essence.
Never did I find that
truth in anyone else –
Sideways glances, soon let me know that none
would ever be you.

But, that was then when good, proud
 men marched to war.
This is now – when those happier
times
are all I have to keep....