Glass

There's a hub-bub in the kitchen
Filled with raucous reminiscing
And I do feel that I'm missing
Good fun going on.
But, I sit here in her bedroom
Which still's smelling of her perfume
Ransacking drawers in daytime's tomb
To find memories to make strong.
Sure enough, amongst her knickers
And cheap old jewellery made of silver
And photos which make me linger
Just a little while with tears,
There's a piece of her not down there
Among the pall and fresh-curled hair
(She'd have died if she lay unawares
With no make-up on her face)
Lies a little bit of her glasses
Waiting there while time passes,
Overlooked by masses
A lens that lost its place.
I remember those glasses years ago
Perched on her button nose
Telling rhymes I now know
Off by my wee heart.
'I went down the town one day
To buy a wheaten whistle, I say'
And sunrays on those lenses did play
At my life's little start.
They got splashed by water, I think,
When she did bathe us in the sink
She'd wipe them then give a wink
Never angry, you see.
You knew if you was because she would launch
A slipper at you, better watch
And those glasses would slip off
Such a place to be.
So I sit, turning the glass over,
Magnifying grass and clover
Though she never was a rover
She saw the world through this pane.
So I pocket it, a piece of her,
A little bit of her world,
My little fingers gently curled
Around her again.
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