Beau Poem by Lesley Merrin

Despairing, the rain reflects my mood,
I wander aimlessly looking for shelter,
A sign catches my eye,
ART GALLERY.
I feel strangely drawn towards it,
It beckoned me.

I enter. The warmth greets me,
Steam rises from my coat,
Droplets of water run to the floor,
There is no one to see.

Mesmerised by the brightly coloured paintings
I wander from room to room,
Nothing touches me.

Until I stop in front of a pencil study in grey,
It shows nothing but an old bottle and glass,
Nothing remarkable in that you might say.

But memories of Beau come flooding back:
His happy smiling face,
I can hear his laugh even now.

He dug every day under the pylon,
To retrieve age old bottles
For the school display,
One area that Beau could excel at.

My mood lifted, I could no longer be sad,
An ill-timed hand touched my shoulder,
A stranger's voice said 'Nothing remarkable in that, '
How could I share my thoughts with someone who had no soul,
Beau was quite remarkable.