It’s hard to imagine
a chest large enough to
carry it. But he carried
it with ease, on his sleeve.
He knew no boundaries
except those for crossing,
and he bore me over
frontiers on his bravado.
I may never learn how
or why I qualified for
his attention; there were
no flags or medals
for playing our game, and
he played it with such an
intensity it was as though
the lives of his family
depended on it, and all for
the chance perhaps one day
to clasp my shoulders again,
and call me brother.
John H Davies
1st February 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment