If I was

If I was

Read to by a child

What would it signify

The passing of a flame?

I remember listening to children

When they were learning to read

Helping them overcome the stumble

The hesitant stammer

The hot flush discolouring their cheeks

As the letters rotated

Trying to stop the flutter

Hoping to persuade them to settle

On a configuration that made

Some kind of sense

Until one day as if by magic

When my back was turned

Whilst life and other things crowded

All around us

They were reading

Racing past the Famous Five

Unto Tales of brave Ulysses

It seemed that only halfway

Through the voyage

I was made utterly redundant

How poignant it would be

To have them read Homer’s

Ancient stories

Out loud to me now

As I lie in mouldering repose

Barely strong enough

To hold a book

For long enough to read a page

Is it old age or merely

An affliction

If I was an old romantic

I would be revived

With a kiss

How delicious a thought that

Would be

If only I had the fortitude

To endure the folly

Of another emotional rescue

It is safer to wait

Beneath this bower

Resting in the shade of a

Flowering Chestnut tree

Until the strength in my arms

Has returned

Perhaps it is too soon yet

For the intimacy

Of a tale before bedtime

Is it any wonder

I am conflicted

When the last rites

Are not to be enjoyed or endured

And are never to be requested

Even if I was a Catholic

Read to me by all means

But keep the music playing

In the background

Tell a story around the campfire

As I am unready

Yet

For you to sit beside my bed.