Coupled beneath heavy blankets they dozed,
untroubled by weather; inspired, betroved.
After first, second, third, breakfast, they rose;
shadows in candlelight glow, unclothed.
The kissing of hallowed relics in Durham
is allowed, I’ve heard. As is the giving
of chips to crows. In the cenotaph garden
at Amble, the clocks are still, for the living.
Ticks all the boxes, kisses the children.
Burps their hot water bottles, like babies,
at breast; hums The Best of Whitney Houston.
nickreeves 
Beautiful, especially “ In the cenotaph garden
at Amble, the clocks are still, for the living.”
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…you can’t beat the best of The Best!
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I love this! What an idyll it paints . . .
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An idyll, indeed. Thank you, Liz!
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You’re welcome, Nick!
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This is gorgeous Nick and loved Ingrid’s reading of your poem today! It was awesome! ❣️
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Thank you, Cindy. It feels good to be bringing the work together as a whole: exciting!
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You’re most welcome. I can imagine and am delighted for you, Exciting indeed! ❣️
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