Bravely to the waiting breach

Growing old, really old,

Should have been your option

Growing old, really, really old

And your life not put to auction.

Growing old and growing out,

Still somehow wired and ultimately required

To live like the cannon ball, shattering, crashing

Fired, t’ward a target desired.

Slowing cold, really cold,

Locked away in bricks or wood

Slowing cold, really, really cold

And it’s taken all the good.

Slowing cold, to death and breath

And bold and bravely to the waiting breach

And to all of us each,

Who wished you like the splendid sun,

Not in darkness out of reach.

Grant Fenton, 29 August 2017


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