Posted by Admin on 31 March 2008, 12:00 am
Poised on ebon plinth,
argent, half-ovoid, it reflects
the room – dominates the décor
with burnished splendour;
its convex planes engraved
memoratively.
Yet, what avails that silver prize
which I alone am here to see?
No parents’ joy, no spouse’s pride
conduce to my felicity.
No kith, no kin, remain to care
what laurels wreath an ageing brow:
an empty cup – life’s homologue –
what else presents my trophy now?
T. C. Hudson
1971
© T. C. Hudson.
Village
Parish Council