Cottage of Dreams

I would like to say this poem was inspired by a dear friend…

This is partly true…

It is inspired by too many folk I have known and miss..

She sits alone, it matters not 

if sea and sky are grey or bright.

Her thoughts are off in time to

When her step was firm and light.

For yesterday means nothing now

Or what she ate or said or saw.

Reminiscences of decades gone

Are happy still, or sad and raw.

The home she'd made for husband,

Kids, had been her dream.

Is empty of her things and scent

Now sterile, painted white and cream.

She looks around in vain to find

Among the many visitors,

A face familiar, there are none

But the ghostly shapes of sailors.

Word comes to her infrequently

From daughter and from son,

Addressed care of the nursing home

Of foreign places, business won.

The harbour has seen quite a change

Since sail and timber came,

On misty days the stone and slate

Of home still looks the same.

Narrow streets scarred here and there

Cursed by many, loved by some

Protecting walkers, drunks and dogs

Timeless, wait for what may come.

When son and daughter, travels done

Have riches, so it seems

They may return to occupy

The cottage of their dreams.