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This Room

There is a room

Inside this house

Where he lived

Before he died

And everything inside

This room

Was always placed

Just So.



The chair was set

Right angled to

The dresser

And the door

The bed beneath

The window

Let in a gentle breeze

On sultry summer nights

When the stars

Up in the heavens

Cast

An icy glow

On darkness

In a reminder

Of the winter's snow.



And there he liked

To lie and gaze upon

Those stars so far away

And just imagine what

The world could be

If it were

As it should be.



And sometimes he'd remember

Long lost loves and

Snuffed out flames

And perhaps more

Poignant yet

Those for whom he yearned

But never got to know.



And in this room

As the days grow short

He sometimes thought

He was a boy

Talking to friends

He hasn't heard from

In sixty years or so;

He'd think about his mother

And her kisses on his brow

And wish that one more time

He could feel them on him now

For when his illness

Gripped talon tight

Upon his emaciated frame

His soul would cry out

For the succour

Of pleasures he has known

And cursed

The pain he's in.



One quiet day he passed away

And the funeral was a pleasant one

As much as such things can be

Old friends reminisced and

Relatives cried and all

Went on their way

To tomorrow with the knowledge

That soon, another will be

As was he.



And so our lives go on.

But there still rests

Inside our house

The room where he once lived

And everything inside it now

Is placed exactly so

For somewhere deep inside me

I simply can't believe

That the life that was my loved one

Has now ceased at last

To be.



14/7/1994 C.M.Harris Davies