Beneath the gold there is fire
Under the earth a goddess sleeps
I watched my father die.
Next day he sat on a wall beside me
Put his arm around me
Whispered ‘ you are my daughter’
Under his shabby old raincoat
I could smell his old brown skin
Cherry trees were his passion
He wandered with a book
Measuring leaves, making notes
He is still now, resting.
I lay my hand on the soft grasses
A light wind exhales love love love
All is transmuted
It becomes a flowering branch….
Veronica Aldous 2016 All right reserved