Cranford Redux

Cowardly, I set off in the drizzle,
brief glimpses of the grey horizon
bleed onto the tarmac via the car's wipers
as I come to say my goodbyes.

Your charming cottage is now a hospital
a temporary bedsit
the clinical paraphernalia out of place.

Fate has cruelly sought to bring
a new grandson into this world
as you are about to leave it, but
with your typical farmer's daughter grit
almost spent, you endure, without
the nauseating medicines.

Comes the news and a newborn 
a beautiful wrinkled lad
a Caesarian  selfie
which we toast with weak tea and digestives
badly made by a good neighbour
which I notice you barely nibble.

Then the big surprise
you have been granted the honour
of selecting his name,
now carefully secreted 
in a golden envelope, Oscar-style,
one final loving gift from Ma.

For some barren levity 
I make humorous guesses
before all too soon
it's time to leave.

I kiss you one final time
bury my face in your pillows
brush your ear and whisper
my farewell.

I turn away
as from a beauty spot
to which I'll never return,
and phone a friend
to advise a visit
sooner than he had planned,
later I hear your secret choice,
one last memory of you

it's Leo

© Graham Sherwood  10/2017