Wondersmith West Discussion Forum Hosted by Alice C. Bateman: Her

Her

To begin with I saw her once a week,
I deteriorated, became weak,
Now she calls every day but Sundays.
Mostly stays for the mornings,
Sometimes all day,
Occasionally cards and port in the evenings.
She knows all to well,
Though I don’t tell,
That I love her.
She has her own family,
Told her to move them into
The disused east wing.
But she’s proud,
Won’t take anything.
She has a few other patients,
Given a lot up,
I don’t think she loves this old man,
But she loses herself in my stories.
Thirty years my junior
With the ruddy complexion and build
Of a medieval serving wench.
Too often have I been tempted
To do what old men did
When such a wench brushed by.
She bathes me most mornings
Whilst I lie in bed,
Every now and then, she’ll ‘tut’
And call me a fruity old man.
I do what I can
To whistle a merry tune
And dream of more grandiose days.
We both tend to drink too much
Over a hand of cards
But I order her a taxi.
Her children are cared for by a minder.
She has a circle of friends,
Who, I’m sure question her
About such over-indulgence
With a decaying, decrepid lord
Of a decaying, decrepid manor.
She’s in tune with the world.
Imparts information to me
Of dire worldly importance
Always accompanied
With orchestrated laughter,
A beaming selfless smile,
Gypsy eyes that know no lies,
Hand gestures that defy belief ………
She is a thief.
She has stolen my mask of pretence,
That has carried me through life
Thus far.
She has blessed me with real sight
And real air to breathe.
On fine days
She wheels me around the grounds,
We rest beneath the pagoda,
She kneels and talks so sweetly,
Dives effortlessly through my eyes
And makes me walk.
The grounds are still cared for,
Perfume ridden,
Such a Heavenly spot on earth
Should be allowed to no one.
Her children are delightful,
Two dark skinned, lively little boys,
With knowing eyes,
That spill not a drop
Of the essence of their Mother.
I, myself am childless,
Led a single life of bachelorhood,
Not quite righteous,
On the whole – it was good.
But now – when I look into her eyes
She silently tells me, what I have missed,
That I have only kissed,
What this life has on offer.
They will be looked after,
Receiving the proceeds of the sale.
She has more God genes than most,
So I can be assured of meeting her
Again, on level terms.
Life clicks into reverse,
All is so simple,
We hold hands …….
My saviour, my nurse.