After the service <br />at the church <br /> <br />on Sunday morning <br />in 1962 <br /> <br />she and you <br />leaving the choir <br /> <br />and she taking your hand <br />in hers and staying behind <br /> <br />until the others had gone <br />she kisses your lips <br /> <br />and the echo <br />of the organ’s drone <br /> <br />silent and the smell <br />of her mother’s <br /> <br />borrowed scent <br />lingering in the air <br /> <br />and knowing her sister <br />would be waiting outside <br /> <br />prepared to tell her mother <br />if she caught glimpse of kiss <br /> <br />or any hold of hands <br />and half deaf organist <br /> <br />Mr Lundon stomping about <br />in the organ loft above <br /> <br />and all you wanted <br />was to stay there <br /> <br />with the kiss and love <br />and her lips and the look <br /> <br />in her big blue eyes <br />not knowing then <br /> <br />that all things <br />however good <br /> <br />move on and something <br />inside her already dies.<br /><br />Terry Collett<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/already-dies/
