Blue Hyacinth for Mr. Thompson,
Dying last night while the north wind
swirled
in shrieking fits
That shattered the lattice porch
beneath his window.
A pompous man who, as Advent neared,
Sprinkled wine and words over seed trays
to invoke his dream of April.
And then, on Christmas Eve,
His chubby fingers working overtime,
Stuffed spring bulbs into treacle tins
To give to friend and neighbour.
Springtime was always on his mind
However bleak the winter;
And tinsel hung on plastic trees
Simply not his style.
Blue Hyacinth for Mr. Thompson.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
February 4th. 1963 - June 18th. - 29th. 2023.
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