Home > Poetry > Donovan


I speak of him who once was here
in memories of moments past
that passed from then to present
in a long, unbroken line
of now unspoken images.
Tall and slender,
slightly of an air of grace
that granted space
to sporting vast intrigue,
he sought of me
a sense of something sound
from underneath the silhouette
of fluid ground,
of youth’s unyielding yearning,
ever turning,
this way,
that way,
whatever way would open
his deserving eyes.
Preserving what he could of alibis
of England, Afrika,
of journeys to refind a place
and face the kind of age
where adults stand of firmer feet,
he chanced to meet me
eye to eye
amid a gaggle of friends and favourites,
falling one by one
into the charms of the unknown.
And now we meet again
through years
whose decades had not e’er decayed
the dream,
the drive,
the drama of the wife and child,
the life once led and smiled upon,
for those he loves as new
are those he never loses.
My friend,
my soul so happy still
that you are here once more
with much to mean and nought to mourn,
from thought to thought
and heart to heart.
Lest we should ever part again…
you have my ever-earnest love…
and that’s a start!


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