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Grandfather’s piece

Olivia Vercoe  |  23 August 2020

Old music mellowed out the room
gently held in our embrace,
below the veil deathly draughty
hung the weeping grace.
It was like His painter was in on it too.
Hues of pink paled the watercolour streaks,
vibrant sunlight intermixed
pooling on mothers’ cheeks.
The still window was imagined dream-like
setting sun mourned down the blessed,
broke the banks of dams we held
a love we all professed.
Time stilled.
Or maybe it was the piece…
lilting notes so slowly sad
playing a release.
Afternoons darkening silence
eased the rivers flow,
swept up with our memories
that rippled rushed in woe.
Finally…it tips over.
The wheezing crackled out,
spilling out the tears that welled
dispelling all our doubt.

All of us became, quietly, children again.
We embraced the sombre close,
goodbyes little and so long
cracked the time that froze.

I cast my memory of you, Grandfather,
through fog of morning calm.
Of Vineyard’s landscape; those cool dawns
Held in your toasty palm.

Celebrations’ sombre song: its finale,
will kiss an echoed key
its deep and morning tune will ebb
and lasting will it free.


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