I want to live long enough to forget your name.
To smile, simply, to say ‘I know you, don’t I?’
To hold your hand without quite knowing why,
To take a gentle walk down a distant memory lane,
And be home by lunchtime.
How I want the short straw of growing old;
Ninety-two Christmas trees and cards on Mothers Day.
I want you, all grey and wrinkles, crows-feet and arthritis
In the chair next to mine.
I want to fade, gently, you alongside,
With lilies, iris and lanterns