With you I always saw the potted palms
Marble floors and Chinese jardinieres
Polished ancient oak and well-worn arms
Of venerable tufted leather chairs.
Curious how your face evoked the glow
Of firelight and candles in old brass!
When I knew you, the wine had ceased to flow,
And so I have no love for Irish glass.
But crewel and damask –– spices from the East ––
Herbal tea and pottery Quimper
Feed my sorrow, as my eyes do feast
On relics left from life within your care.
O, dearest, gentle one, you were the Past ––
A waking dream –– a joy I still hold fast.