54/2023

He does this every Friday,
Plays the piano for the dying
Children in a house of colours,
Where grief dapples every moment
With shadows in the corridors
Outside the room where his music
Makes them smile for a few sacred
Heartbeats. And every Friday,
At the end of the afternoon,
He takes his hat and coat,
Walks away down the drive
To his empty house where he
Wonders how many of the
Faces will smile at him
Next week.

R 23/02/2023 20:34

Many people have been saying nice, moving things about me. Humble thanks to you all.