PICTURES

'Dickie-bird-watching pictures of the dead'-
Could be something Dylan said.
Milkwood, perhaps? I like the line.
Transfixed beneath the glass, they shine
Like bees in amber; sepia in silver frames.
I do not always know their names
And yet they people this small space
With warmth and comfort and with grace.
The Captain, anchored on the shore,
Will sail the seven seas no more.
This lady with her hair piled high
Bore seven children, saw them die.
A soldier smiles a brave farewell.
Did he return? I cannot tell.
They fought their fight, as I must mine,
And, underneath the glass, they shine.

©Rosemary Dixon-Smith