Middle Age — a poem

Photo by Ihor Malytskyi on Unsplash

Through the three o’clock window
A distant sound of after-school children
Coming up through the shadowed lane
The cold follows them like a north wind

They grow louder, laughing, playing
I sit on the ledge and wonder
Whether to close it and shut you both out
I remember those carefree hours

When all troubles lay, not in the future
As some imagine, but deep inside
Simply awaiting the spotlight hour
To pour time’s contents on to my floor

History runs hard and slow here
Can I stem its tide or sleep it away
Move towards this afternoon’s invitation?
Close the window and lay down?

Or shall I put on a rough coat?
Step upon the frosted street and call out
Once more to join life’s throng while
Somewhere, there is still a song

@simon heathcote 2019

Razor Breath and Flowers— a poem