This Is Not A Darker Moment Poem by Not Long Left

It was always on the hill that overlooked the
Sea. The family sitting on a tartan blanket
That had kept warm fourteen children.
Mother and Nan would talk with the ease of
Age, time had softened thier differences and
Had bound them together. Looking out
For that spot of France which fades in
And out of view, peeling pink fresh prawns
In perfect unison. A little further on was Father
Standing quielty, smoking his Woodbines
Watching us roll down the smaller hillls.
I am told that nowdays I only speak of the
Darker moments I believe them wrong.