The Times They Are A Changing (I.P.)
The Times They Are A Changing...
We were together in so many...zapping midges
on a picnic by the lake. Me, in a brand
spanking-new uniform, hanging on to your hand
at the infant school gates...
straddling a stile at the top of a hill, when you spoke
of a myriad of things – Darwin and the origin
of man, of life on Mars, and of insects,
crawling on stones.
You waxed lyrical about black-holes...
why the sky is blue, how to tell a toadstool
from a mushroom; what fairy rings are...
of solar winds
and shooting stars,
and how your dad
and you hunted for snails
in your own backyard,
and how he cooked
then ate them.
Of Ronnie Biggs – of Jackie Onassis;
where you were, what you were doing
when news broke that Kennedy was dead.
Hungry to learn then, I was.
Excited by that pink hula-hoop of a thing
we call the world – head spinning, ear
down to the rail, hearing it zing
before the train arrived.
Then, you flew a kite – I broke the string
to set it free, until it tangled in a tree.
I burst into tears and you dried them
with your sleeve, and on the way home
it snowed, and I was the warmest
I had ever been. Trouble is,
seems it’s been snowing ever since.
How then, can I stand at your grave, tell you
‘Rest in Peace’, when I want to see you wear
your brown tweed cap, smoke your tobacco...
drink a cup of your favourite coffee...
Have you sit me on your knee – tell me
stories of happy-ever-afters; no –
don’t want to hear no once-upon-a-times,
because I want you back, right here, right now.