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GROWING OLD
There’s a Christmas card scene
just outside my window.
A blizzard, a storm, a flurry
of hurrying, scurrying snow.
And into it I will step
striding, bold and sure
a shadow traversing the snowdrifts
making it’s way to your door.
I will step beside your window
and softly call your name
and beg you, please, to join me
in a snowy, wintry game.
Toboggan down the hillside,
join skaters on the lake.
Stand and watch the children
as a snowman they all make.
Then, up the village streets
sliding on the ice,
and walking through the woods
for an hour would be nice.
But all this cannot happen
for I am far too old
and you do not enjoy
being outside in the cold.
So, instead, I’ll sit here watching
and think of you warm inside
where the fire glows delightfully
and you are curled up there beside.
For although it’s fun in the snow
playing at this and that.
It’s also cosy to be indoors
when you’re an ageing cat
Cecilia Brabin 27/7/06 (adapted from a poem written 13/1/85)
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