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 ramblings and things

To Richard

I loved to hear his stories,
some bits I knew by heart
but learned to wait and listen
for the interesting new parts.
As  I got to know him better
he would tell me little bits more,
mainly of his time in India
before the second world war.

He seldom spoke of that
or his later time in Palestine
as if he had drawn in his mind
a not to be crossed line.
We talked as we played draughts;
every Sunday it was the same
his skill and aggressive style never
letting me even win a single game.

He seemed to die suddenly
almost as though by choice
when the cruellest of cancers
took away his very voice;
so he just seemed to sit quietly
waiting for his appointed day,
a Raconteur who could not talk
quite ready to just fade away.

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