Herontele

Crisp. 
Clean. 
White, 
like your mind.
no dark places
pillars to hide behind
no shades of grey
silver tongued
our lives on your lips
as you read, cool and calm
the latest North to South

Ours a street cafe
with the volume drowned
a squabble of traders
, hubbub of hats
from time to time
masking your face
just your eyes, always
talking to me,
beauty untouched
without the sound

Are we foreign again ?
a death measured
by how many Brits
were sadly on board
a careless coach
, going straight on a curve
or a famous face
in a glamorous pose
a leading light
lost to the world
sadly and suddenly
a miss missed
tho’ slipped for years
perhaps it’s a panda
last years news
, papa at last , doing, finally
what pandas should …

Whatever you trade,
whoever you hold,
wherever you look,
I’ll be there, my love, silent too

If you’d like to find out a bit more about this poem, click the link to the page “Explained” which shines a light on the background to each poem, or helps you to understand what the heck’s going on if you’re a bit baffled!