Poetry

Reuters photo

By

Sarah Ito

Peas From The Cotswolds

My Mum, she passed so young, and never said goodbye, but she was gone

Long time before.

My Pa, he was so strong, and never did he cry, but he let her go

Long time before.

Me, I was but a little one trailing behind

Her casket, draped with the colours of maroon, gold and blue,

Long time ago.

Me, I was a tad taller when I played so careless

In the damning public eye

Long time ago.

Then, I turned a soldier and led a soldier’s life, cold,

Hard, in the skies above and the mountains below,

Not so long ago.

The Blues and Royals, the bloody strife,

The camaraderie

I was a man and I stood alone,

Not so long ago.

Then, the woman came,

An actress from California, a Yank,

Of mixed race and strong voice,

Not so long ago.

Me, I feel like a prince, descended from this land.

She, my wife, now rooted in this land.

Like peas from the Cotswolds, we separate from the pod, we prosper,

We endure.

Sarah Ito

I am a novelist (GROWING UP GREENWICH, Outskirts Press), blogger and essayist, and occasional poet.