It was a dark moonless night
when the clock struck noon
and the cat turned and looked at me twice.
She shot from the room
like a bursting balloon
waving her tail in the air.
(To be fair she had done it all week,
every night, but I hadn’t paid much attention.
I’m too tired out to much care).
The door-frames kept clicking,
the floorboards were creaking
and the clocks were all ticking too fast.
I followed the cat
(I’m adventurous like that)
and there, by the fire,
sat the family choir
smiling and telling their tales.
(I remembered their songs from before)
They were the old ones,
the aunts and the uncles,
who had lived long ago in the Valleys,
and no-one had told them
that they weren’t alive any more.
I wasn’t surprised.
Everyone dies, in their time,
But I knew this time wasn’t mine,
so I bowed myself out of the room
while they hummed a gentle old tune.
I knew beyond doubt
it was time I moved out
so I picked up the cat
and, smoothing her cares,
I tiptoed slowly downstairs.
We sat on the step
all night long, in the wet,
and I sang a new song in the rain.
I wished there had been a full moon
but when it’s time to move on…..
well, it’s time to move on, just the same.
There is no going back there again.
Old moon, new moon, half moon or sickle,
the removal van can’t come too soon for my liking.
No one should live in a sad mausoleum.
So I’m burning their boats, like a viking.