Snow lies thick – I hibernate.
No sound to be heard. I am all alone,
Basking in silence. At such times I know
I’m alive. Damn, that’s the phone!

A voice from the past. We shall not meet.
We chat away, we forget a name,
But we laugh and remember a life once shared -
Unseen the wrinkles, the voice is the same.

“A robin on a round of beef!” Mom said
Her mother used to say.
I say it now and smile at the phrase:
Long-dead voices echo through me.

And magical songs emerge unsought -
From the bardic past: they are mine to borrow
Reverberating still today ….. and tomorrow
And tomorrow and tomorrow…….