Michael Taylor, 1970-99

Looking down at this polished grey stone,
I'm reminded in a rush of our history.
When at first we share almost everything,
To a day when I at last let you out.
A junction of a road we shared as home.
Your darling wife, so bitter and impatient.
Smug in her total dominance of you.
You are distant in more than just miles.

I am sure that where you are you know now
The hatred we'll always feel for her.
And the loss we felt before you even died.
I can deign no warmth of forgiveness.
She killed you in our hearts and minds.
And all we have are the pictures.
And all we have are the memories.
Looking down at this polished grey stone.