"Michael." she called from the gate near the bridge.
"Michael." again.  Me ?  Her ?
I caught my breath and let go my spade;
brain fused, I stood still, shocked rigid.

I couldn't quite see her behind the hedge
but that call I'd heard before.
Breathing resumed and consciousness weighed
an event I had not envisaged.

Many a time while I worked on my plot
she had called me to come back home.
Now could a miracle really occur
and I be no longer alone ?

Crazy to think it for even a second;
just wishing can't make things real.
After four years though, fantasy beckoned
and my one wound could heal.

Then the young man who had started plot eight
walked quickly toward the gate.
Another Michael, a different wife
and no return to life.

Perhaps I should have looked away
'averted my gaze' as posh folk say
but I wasn't sure of what I was seeing -
a bit of Nature brought into being?
Ignoring the need for human dating
there on a log two butterflies mating.

A famous poem

It doesn't need to have a name;
it doesn't matter who it's by;
it's what it says that gives it fame
and how it says it rates it high.

50+ sports club

We play at racquet sports
and bowls and swim and socialise
and organise long local walks
and Christmas meals and holidays.

We pan last night's TV,
update each other's families,
discuss the latest films we've seen
and recommend new holidays.

We analyse our ills,
admire the drama group's new play,
dissect our recent restaurant meals,
consider our next holiday.

Now cruises are much favoured -
the almost perfect combination
of foreign places lightly savoured
from quarantined accomodation.

The sky is blue and calm
the sea; we sail along relaxed,
not fearing any likely harm
from winged objects at our backs.

But up ahead they forecast storms;
conditions will deteriorate
and though the evening sun still warms,
there's nothing we can do but wait

as fading power brings concern
when things start to go wrong.
For we can't mend when we can't learn,
no longer being young.

The structure suffers from fatigue;
the frame begins to shake and creak
and though embarrassing to believe,
the vessel starts to leak.

The navigational aids won't work
and worn parts need replacing;
there isn't any way to shirk
the future that we're facing.

The sea ahead is all downhill
but it won't help us if we rage
against the dying light so we'll
just carry on cruising through old age.

Sparrowhawk

A sudden shower of white feathers
raining down from the edge of an oak tree.

We stared and stunned each other 'cross the room.
I shouldered through the crowd to reach her.
I took her hand and kissed it. Then her mouth.
"Get off ! What are you doing ? Who are you ?"
"Don't be upset." I said, "We know each other
from eternity. You're in my dream
and I in yours. We share a common soul."
"You're mad." she said, "Completely off your head."
"No, no, not so. Marry me." I beseeched her.
"This is ridiculous."
"Come with me now."
"With you ? Where to ?"
"My car. My house. My life. My bed."
"I don't believe I'm hearing this." she said.
I kissed her hand and then her mouth. She came.
We made love more than sex yet in the gloom
there wasn't anything I could teach her.
The early morning light peered round the blind,
the herald of another Monday murk.
The pillow held no memory of her head.
I ate some breakfast. Went to work.

Though not a leper, I know the feeling
of a pariah with skin that's peeling.
It's because my wrinkles caused disgust
when my eye twinkled with ageing lust
and I asked a young woman to dance with me
in a local disco at seventy three.
The look of horror that crossed her face
really shocked me back to my place.
But it's good my skin hasn't worn too thin -
my elephant hide 'll let me try agin !