Now all I can encompass is
within the width of my hands.
I miss the colours of the seasons
and the force of nature's will.
Once more that old familiar path
my childhood steps retraced.
Dark shadows abate to let a surge
of youthful joy embrace.
How well the tug on the string
of a high flying kite.
Old Sam chasing his tail.
Gracie Fields spinning on a 78.
The bookcase with the leadlight panes.
So sad these things of the past.
The mind remembers the rest forgets.
That fleeting burst of youth has left,
turning the page is difficult now;
Words blur as the brain slurs from
one forgetfulness to the next.
Only these fragments remain,
within the width of my hands.
Voices but I do not see their lips.
A slight sting in the arm.
Warmness fills and my mind is clear.
A dear voice says, 'sleep now, sleep.'
The light dims and I feel the tug
of the kite's string.
Come kite let's fly!
Chase your tail Sam,
there's a good dog.
jerry hughes
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/within-the-width-of-my-hands/
