Ravens

Ravens

I once knew a girl who liked ravens,
and I'm pretty sure that she liked me
Alas I was often too craven
I guess some things aren't meant to be
In a game craft with cunning, so foxy
With hindsight an ironic prize
Playing our roles in a proxy
Unaware what's seen in other's eyes
In excited train journeys to places
To faces important, that count
Thrumming down tracks, the heart races
As memories mass and they mount
Not always set in a sequence
Not always straight in a line
Some stations at first just don't make sense
They only make sense over time
When you pan out and see the big picture
Not just the view from the train
Through the window, life runs with its scripture
Blurring a weary refrain
But amidst the nostalgic hued montage
Some images rise to the top
Colours that climb in the collage
With purple, the cream of the crop
A harvest of fond home made scotch eggs
A dragon print throw from the east
Foreign fund media bootlegs
Well meant tuna pasta bake feasts
Nights stranded beyond final buses
Hours long bought and short spent
Broken toes, wheel chairs, fusses
... that one final gift left unsent
Hand crafted die for a gamble
A flutter, a reflex, fresh doors
Perspectives new, different walks ambled
… all of these things and much more
The past has its chapters, its havens
This book has its most cherished marks
Of a girl, who I knew, who liked ravens
and grapes fed to squirrels in parks