THE SUIT                  

 

 

This costume of an older me

Does not sit well upon my frame

Each stage with attending uncertainty

Not the suit in which I came

 

Remembering childhood’s ‘xotic clothes

Allowing oneself the luxury

Recalling pleasures not the woes

To bask in simple reverie

 

Favourite secret places gone

Quarry, pond and places dark

Different children jump my stones

Their arrows find a different mark

 

Paths and houses, muted, still

I stand alone amongst my friends

Black against white, a bird stares back

At this version of my earlier self

 

The memory still astounds me now

For no reason that is plain to tell

A sense of wonder, deep content

My earlier suit it fit me well

 

 

Stuart Williamson         Estero, Feb. 2015 ©