Meeting Poem by John Rickell

It was one of those times,
We met at close of day
soft grey sky mix of
many colours that make a day
often forgotten, but not this
the weather forgettable
as I remember it.
It was a walk for Jack
just a walk in a field
beyond the hedge
a hundred yards or so
no more, every day the same.
She was there with her dog,
(who she is I shall not know
until we meet again
and that we shall)
black as Jack and twelve years old
She was tall and handsome
said hello, complimented Jack
they were of equal height and got on well
as she and I.
(Yet who she is I shall not know
and we shall meet again)
The path was muddy kept to the grass
remembering the white carpet
and my daughter's pride!
Just retired from the RAF
At Wittering down the road,
I knew the place in cold-war days
when gentle fields and forget-me-nots
quivered in Valiant roar
and children quaked in bed
five minutes to eternity.
She spoke with ease
we got on well
her smile a lonely smile her
(laughter lines radiating friendship)
colleagues left behind
Her home now in Wansford
by the Great North Road.
Drums in the car
brought from Nantwich she said,
her life now itinerant
two boys, her mother in the village
We spoke little of our lives
enough to wish time was longer
I never asked her name
nor she mine,
we were on a journey
through shops and streets
jostles in crowds, waiting for a bus
woodlands and flooded streams,
chance to meet, chance to stay
another time, when next we walk the dogs
buy our daily bread.......
share the world we breathe.
We shall meet again, the earth is round
we only need to wait
and if, by chance we do not,
shall remember days, grey skies
many days of no great value
save they join other times
when colours, no longer subdued,
break into all their glory,
delphinium blue and poppy-red.