Upstairs
The glasses are empty the wine has been drunk
A table left untidied, with plates undone
The young shoots are patterning the apple trunk
Life appears for the favour of young
The old branches cut and piled on the ground
The old shades now vanished away
The TV controls wait somewhere to be found
Time stands still as if on delay
I hear your voice, feel it shifts through the air
The breeze of this morning flies by
You say I can’t see you here, are you upstairs?
I probably am, I reply…
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