! Silent About That Night

In later years,
seated around a huge fire,
crackling and spitting on a snowy night,
the best beer in Europe frothing from the jug,
they'd ask him, jocular like but curious with it,
how it felt to be remembered
just once a year, all over the known world
for that one night long ago?

' 'tis strange really: he were a right sod to work for afore that -
never a word to me, as if I didn't be there;
but that night, it were strange -
it were the moment he stood there looking out of the window:
there were summat in the room -
wish I were a writer, like,
to say what it were...

we've never spoken about it, mind,
but we both know it's there unspoken, like..
we haven't had a bad word between us ever since...
that's what I'd like to write about,
that's the moment...'

silence for a time, as they looked into the hissing fire,
those woodcutters and their mates;
then put their coats on, trudged out
into the snow 'where the saint...'

well you know the rest...

by Michael Shepherd

Comments (2)

Sorry, Lenshen; I'm budded from that other rose; that smells as sweet, they say.. that country stock pushed off their land into the mills - and to this day they bear a grudge deep in their souls - a sharp sense of historical injustice; warm hearts; but edgy folks... not like those neighbour tikes who stand so firm on their own land as if they owned it.. do you wonder that we hate you so like only neighbours can?
Is that a Tike Accent I hear there?