a sort of joy

67

write about joy
for a change she said
what’s the point of always
brooding upon death

joys are hard to recall
I had a rapture when I was ten
joys have been more low key
ever since then

in truth those joys that persist
are shaded by regrets
perhaps joy partly comes
at someone else’s expense

I remember my mother singing
I remember making her cry
I hope I told her I loved her
before we said good bye

from her photo on the mantelpiece
she sees me growing old
dear me she says those silver threads
have crowded out the gold

no call to regret growing old she says
soon you’ll be with me
and we’ll sing our songs together
in the shade of the old apple tree

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