One year the kids made a photo mosaic,

a diary from warmness to winter’s decaying:

the feeding of bottles and reading of stories,

his hair set in bobbles, the family guffawing;   

teaching the beautiful game in the garden,

patiently building sandcastles and snowmen;

watching barbarians ruin his labours

as youngsters mutate into surly teenagers.

The long dark locks are whitened and hidden;

that worshipping congregation has risen

as if all sins were forgot or forgiven

and he a declining church or religion,

desirous of presence and shows of devotion:

receiving lip-service and standard gift tokens.

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