Sawing up the fallen branches, I remembered George -
The gentle strength of his hands -
His gaze across the final river -
There was a bridge across that water -
A trail of light in the darkness -
I never saw him cross that river -
Yet sawing the wood, I hold him close, as he'd held Wallace -
His grandson, too briefly held -
When I hold Wallace, I hold George too -
He's with me now as it grows dark -
Who I know somehow, though I don't know how -
Waiting, like me, for apples to grow on the lichened tree -
Wednesday 9 December 2020
The Old School House
East Stoke
Dorset
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