And now the rapid weeks rush
Ever faster to oblivion.
Familiar names more frequently
Announce their leaving in the Telegraph
But as with wartime lists of casualties
My name could be there too,
And isn't. I am fortunate,
All systems working and
So much to savour still.
It does not do to contemplate
The bridge or bridges still to cross
And least of all to think the loss
Of lovely Her who means so much.
No, no, for there are grandchildren, and travelling,
Grass to cut, committees, watching shares
Perhaps tomorrow I'll go through
Those attic boxes, throw away
Some junk, sort out old papers
Perhaps. There's lots of time. Perhaps.
[c] John Wedge
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