Jumble

The two sheds at the end of the garden
Are full of the jumble of past lives,
Waiting for the weather to be drier,
Warmer, more patient, so we can pull
It all apart, and start again without
The burden of what’s been,
Waiting for this life to slow its chaos
Into something manageable, where we
Find time to potter amongst the memories,
And throw out the ones we don’t need.
But that time seems further away
Than ever, because we can’t stand still.

R 27/09/2024 17:55