The last supper

Half-eaten

The last drops of wine

In the bottle remain

Half-drunken

Eighty Four years of life on this earth

Your eyes feasted on war after war

But, the belly felt the the pain and rumbling

As it was never filled

There were memories of nazis storming the village

Then the civil war where your father was taken, and tortured

The great loss and poverty

In the silent generation

‘Wealth through industry’ was the motto

But, no matter what they built they remained bitter

This life made you hard, made you angry

And the new world offered an escape

A new beginning

Profits, but not without hard labour

From the tobacco fields to builder

The parties, the dancing, music, the laughter

The feasting, all of the families, and friends

The over-indulgence,

The cup filled to the brim

But, it had to end

Those glory days

Oh how they always haunted you

Then back to the old world

That was the dream,

Half -broken

Because you could never

Ever rest, never savour

Too much to do

Now you rest in peace

As your bones will too.

*In loving memory of my father George, who after a long, hard battle with cancer of the bones succumbed to the illness on the 9th of November.

“There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief”.-Aeschylus