In later years, <br />seated around a huge fire, <br />crackling and spitting on a snowy night, <br />the best beer in Europe frothing from the jug, <br />they'd ask him, jocular like but curious with it, <br />how it felt to be remembered <br />just once a year, all over the known world <br />for that one night long ago? <br /> <br />' 'tis strange really: he were a right sod to work for afore that - <br />never a word to me, as if I didn't be there; <br />but that night, it were strange - <br />it were the moment he stood there looking out of the window: <br />there were summat in the room - <br />wish I were a writer, like, <br />to say what it were... <br /> <br />we've never spoken about it, mind, <br />but we both know it's there unspoken, like.. <br />we haven't had a bad word between us ever since... <br />that's what I'd like to write about, <br />that's the moment...' <br /> <br />silence for a time, as they looked into the hissing fire, <br />those woodcutters and their mates; <br />then put their coats on, trudged out <br />into the snow 'where the saint...' <br /> <br />well you know the rest...<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/silent-about-that-night/
