When I am old and grey, and Father Time has had his wretched way with all the bits that move no more…

I will live in a simple dwelling like this top floor, with endless sea beyond the veranda’s edge, and mountains to the other side, behind the cluttered bookshelf that used to be a windowsill.

And Mags will feed me, not because she must, but because she loves, and I can tell her stories of the sixties, and paperbacks and the sound of your first motorbike.

The dog will be too much and not like heights, but Rascal, the wasted tom, will share my memories and some of my breakfast before we take the sun and read the Guardian and learn of Murdoch’s final hours.

Before our present, in thundering clouds, comes rolling from those mountains, sweeping before it everything we knew had no importance, until the only thing left to write is the word that rhymes with

©Stephen Tanham

Stephen Tanham is a Director of the Silent Eye, a journey through the forest of personality to the sunrise of Being. 

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