Dusting by John Black

Nobody likes to ponder long

on God's gift of mortality,

or that their time on Earth might end

at any minute of the day.

I still have things I'd like to do

before my final day on Earth.

But dusting has removed the fear

of fast approaching friendly death.

Although I dust throughout the week;

a yellow rag flicked round too fast,

the weekend brings my little flat

a picture dusting master-class.

Each photograph and portrait hung

on bookcase, wall or sill or ledge

is lovingly relieved of dust

by feather duster, rag and Pledge.

And as I lift each photo frame

of silver, paper, wood or glass,

I take the time to contemplate

events and people from the past.

Mid Wales holidays, pony trekking.

The girls dressed up first day at school.

With painted face on Grannies Knee.

at zoos, and fishing in rock pools.

Their life recalled each Saturday

brings joy and happiness, and still

each wedding, night-out or event

enhances my vicarious thrill.

Then, sadly missed, my Mum and Dad

pose before the garden-party.

I laugh because she was so cross

at Dad's old tie- "Not silk.  and dirty!"

And so, the morning carries on

My sister's pictures take thoughts back

to wine and laughter when we lived

In Dollis Hill, beside the tracks.

Every picture tells a story

recalls a day in my long life

I see it flash before my eyes

and it just brings me joy - not strife.

So, when my time has come, and life

is flashing past whilst angels pray

the memories before my eyes

will be like dusting on Saturday.