For my Grandfather. ( April 4th 1901 -1976)

It’s always when,the magnolia bursts into purity itselfbeside the shuttered houses alongthese grimy streets, and the pear treesgentle stubble turns the starkness of theyear into a children’s wish,it’s always then, that you begin to beclose to me.It’s somehow Camelliadancing in pink skirts beltingpsychedelic colour to the groundin fallen perfumed petals: and the green shootspierce the grumbling winter soil,to raise the shadow of a smileit’s always then, that you bringa single rose to me.It seems that timehas thrust you from her depths& death is nowhere to be foundfor somehow memory is bound up in the blissof each succeeding spring, the sketch of long lostkiss & the garden tells it all,it brings me to my knees in thankfulness,that your hand was once in mine.It’s always when,the magnolia suddenly appears& fox cubs scream their loathsomemidnight song, when cherry blossom looksexactly as it should, like some blowsy bride’sbouquet at the ending of this daywhen the moon is throttled in the sky and your birthdayrings bells in my head, it’s almost always thenthat I feel you, so very close to me.