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Tenor horn

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An older man and his wife are crossing CD tracks,
From “Morning In Cornwall” to the hymn “Treskerby”
For a single stranger whom they welcome in;
Memories in the midst are of a material so thin
There is necessity for great care to begin them,
Whilst the coiling mist of Pendeen is re-mixing
With early washing on a line, collecting a freshness
The woman will gather in as her husband strengthens
To reminisce; where else except at the kitchen table,
When the work of Geevor rifts the music of his mind
Along with his conducting of Pendeen Silver Band;
And in his face are many levels of an ex-miner’s path,
A pattern, a route, an offshoot of other generations,
A rhythm he had found from underground to home,
Weaving through “First & Last Brass…” and our tears
Neither of us had set out to uproot, yet we fill up,
As our contrasting years are stilled, and on reflection:
Our lives must come to pass like winds beyond a wall.

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