Distant Voices Poem by Thomas Vaughan Jones

As I stirred in my morning bed,
prepared to meet the day,
I heard faint voices in my head
from fifty years away.

My father, in the bathroom,
clearing a lusty throat.
Singing in fine Welsh tenor
and losing not a note.

My mother, in the kitchen.
Her sounds are everywhere,
her lovely clear soprano
embellishing an air.

The shouting of my life-long friend.
The sounds of skipping feet.
Those happy games that never end,
the noises of our street

I close my eyes and contemplate
a childhood filled with joy.
Sweet memories to meditate
on when I was a boy.

And should my children, growing old,
remember just the same,
then even though I'm lying cold
I'll know I've won the game.