DOUG (IN MEMORIAM)
Doug is sitting in his usual place,
(I can see him through my bedroom window)
Gazing into a sun-filled space,
A secretive smile on his poor sad face,
Staring unseeing, unblinking,
What are you thinking of Doug?
Sifting through the back numbers
Of your brown-edged memories,
Turning over the long-lost leaves
Of the relics of your past.
Casting back through the cobwebbed hall of memory,
Cocking your ear to catch the lingering strains
Of a forgotten melody when the verdant valleys rang
With the timeless tunes of the male voice choir.
When the music swelled to a crescendo,
Spilling over and washing down the
Face of the honeycombed mountain,
But that was in the olden days.
And do you remember when we sang Myfanwy
Down in that dark, dank dungeon of a mine?
Buried alive boys, buried alive!
Buried in the bowels of mother earth!
Praying for a miracle of swift rebirth.
Ah! Those were the days, the drear doomed days,
But they’re dead and gone and there’s no more roving
Over those broom brushed hills.
This poem was inspire by the old ex miner who lived in the cottage opposite our house. He often sat on his bench staring into space for hours, come rain or shine. I often wondered what he thought about sitting there…….