Empty frames on pictured walls.
When they’re not really here at all.
We reminisce with photograph’s of times we held and those we laughed.
With every time we stated facts or rolled around just acting daft.
Walking around London taking in the sights,
Bottle in hand setting the world to rights.
Then quite bluntly withouth a thought.
Your wonderful life was cut terribly short.
A gaping big hole that I didn’t expect.
Where parts of me fell away in neglect.
I often think of the fight’s you’d have won of the reason’s you’d of given and of who you’d become.
I wonder would we laugh the same or if you’d like my daughters name?
I wonder rather fleetingly and then I try to fail to see, because you’re gone for eternity and what is left is simply me.
©G.P Williamson 2017