Ninety-two Christmas Trees

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

To light my way.

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