1652

The Ash Tree

In the grey morning, gulls drift overhead

As we drift on towards Waterloo East.

Autumn has returned and in its chill

There's little sense of fruitfulness or Keats'

Abundance as the sodden trackside trees

Await a rotting death of fallen leaves.

The train is silent though the seats are full

As if we were a far-flung family

Returning from the funeral of a child

Each caught up in a passive reverie

Of unrequited grief - the silent pain -

Of loss for love which will not come again.

Outside my office window the ash tree

Waves and shimmers in the autumn sun

Calling me from this depressive verse

Back to a reality long spun

In days of warmth and light, which never cease

When love's compassion brings love's quiet peace.