Bluebells

It was a real life, I think, those days

Of fairgrounds, brandy-snaps and hook-a-duck,

Singing on waltzers, we were children in love

With sugared lips and clasping foxglove bouquets.

They show me a photo, a wedding, I think that’s me

And you. Outside the church of our childhood

Where tulips and bluebells have begun to bud,

Lacy veil catching blurred confetti.

They tell me stories, some of them are lost

Among the years of children, dust and age,

Thoughts of you that cling onto the edge;

But still there’s foxgloves, fairgrounds, candyfloss.

I don’t know Them and You are indistinct

And yet this life of ours was real, I think.