Every evening they sit by the lake
remembering those sylvan days
when hand in hand they loved reading William Blake

Recalling how they walked among the lilies,
as their hearts did ache,
thinking that they had only a couple of days

before he flew to an alien land to study further
and they could no longer dance and shake
a leg

The wind crooned, softly, ah so softly.
The notes of a song; soft and tender, like a snowflake
laden with memories of yore
drifted towards them,
as they sat hand in hand on the bench by the lake

And those wonderful times,
standing side by side when they loved to bake

Embellishing the home –cooked delicacies
with aromatic spices
and year after year after year
trying to taste the marriage anniversary cake

More than sixty years have passed
but the octogenarians still sit by the lake
holding hands

Their high- powered glasses, perched on their noses,
they still pore over the poems of William Blake

“Piper pipe that song again-“
With quivering voices, they still sing the same refrain
sitting by the lake

The Inevitable waits in the shadows;
watching them closely,
as they sit hand in gnarled hand,
looking at the ducks and the drakes
in the lake

This entry was posted in Poetry on by .

About Santosh

An educationist with a passion for writing , having published some novels for young adults, some essays and some poems. My poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi will soon be published .

9 thoughts on “Together

Leave a Reply