Pictures In the Withering Light
I looked at you and saw our children,
Flashing pictures, running green
and wild on a beach in Norfolk, I think,
You with walking shoes, a smile, a fleece.
And now these pictures, fading, blue,
Spectres of memories that never were,
They eat me alive as the truth cannot die,
Such pictures exist, but my love, you're with her.
And when you danced, did angels hide?
These blazing pictures, burning white,
White-hot with shame, then children came.
Goodbye to that beach in the withering light.
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