Staring into an open fire,
I never really seem to tire,
Of thinking about you by my side,
The times when we laughed and sometimes cried.
The country lanes where we often walked,
The quiet times when we just sat and talked,
The garments that you used to sew,
The flowers and herbs you tried to grow.
We’d sit alongside the garden pond,
Counting the goldfish of which I’m fond,
Stare down into the murky depths below,
The cats would rub against us to say ‘hello’.
We’d go to the seaside, stroll along the sands,
Walk the high street, always holding hands,
You’d spend the money; I’d carry the bags,
Dine at the pub, dodge the smoke from the fags.
The intimate moments we used to share,
The tender ways that we would care,
For each other in so many ways,
Expecting them to last for the rest of our days.
The flames are dying now, the embers losing their glow,
Reflecting our relationship, so very little left to show,
All that’s left of the past are momentary flashes,
What might have been, now lies in ashes.