bedside stool from my mother

miles, and miles, i have carried

carrying on my shoulder, on my head

and also on my back

from bunker to bunker i carried

cherishing, protecting that memory

from every single aerial bombardment

your bedside stool, a simple symbol

painted in green, your choicest colour

before i finally dropped

while over loaded with doubt

of continuing my journey

through dreadful mire and dangerous sea

in any case, i realize, in my journey

beyond, in that ghostly world

to which you passed so long ago

i must be swift and delay not

where at the journeys end

i will find no room for a bedside stool

henry victor     04.11.2003