May Poem by Yada Richie

It started as small talk over cold meat,
Soon I was skipping breaks in the summer sun,
To hear more dauntless adventures
From a perculiar eighty-six year old embracing life,
With a styled barnet and manicured hand
Which had never held a cigarette or poured a whiskey.

It wasn't until after, I discovered that her absense
Through the changing colours and falling leaves
Had her on board a ship, attending priviledged events
Dressed like a queen at the Captain's table,
Surrounded by a generation of young people
Longing to steal her away and take her home.

As the trees filled with frost
And snow settled on the ground
I prepared to set of for the shore.
Shaking a hand that had spent a lifetime
Caring for sick relatives, I took her best wishes
And a promise to ask over me and bid her farewell.

I returned to that job which had stood as home,
And seemed the only person to feel
The missing presense of a smile with a story.
A question answered only with sad eyes,
Made me realise spring had again become summer,
But this year May had failed to bloom.