Grey Hair

 

 

     There is something to be said for a

  time of World we can never deny -

   as much as some might,

     there is something to be said

for all that was built, all that was made -

      by generations now………..

 

                    ‘…...they are not, dead!’

 

     So heavy,

they are so heavy nobody today can lift them,

  but the navvie and builder that

 would carry hods from dawn till dusk

    could throw them about for fun,

        so heavy but now collecting flowers -

            as light as your aura.

 

     If time permitted;-

  my day could be spent within

imaginings before this now retired -

  porcelain creation,

     ‘for I do remember,’

        I do remember how long

 the faucet took to fill this kitchen apparel,

   I do remember being stripped and washed

      as a Sunday night tantrum – before school,

         my once a week grit removal ceremony -

            then a basin upon my head and scissors for tears,

                     ‘I hated soap!’

 

      How long ago did ma wash the babes

         with water warmed from the hearth,

              how long ago were the clothes in soak

     before the mangle grew the muscles of the child,

        how many pots, how many pans, how many plates -

           bowls - knives forks and boots paraded and decorated this piece?

 

     There is something to be said for those days

  we now try to re-write,

   days of which we can never eradicate from history -

      the effort and lives of our grandmothers and grandfathers,

         “everything now is fake and this now plant pot,

               still in use while aluminium;- rusts!”

 

 

Michael J Waite 11th August 2024. Rothiemay, Scotland.