Where we have been is a beautiful memory,
Fading fast as though steeped in sepia
A photograph album soaking in tea.
And tea is one thing not lacking
After all the trips to the car, unpacking
The tea was last in, first out
Except our son, without a doubt
and we drank in both, the journey ended.
As our house we once again befriended.
The days of sun and tiger mosquito bites remain
But neither will quite be the same, in the city
The mosquitoes are less bitey
The sun is less shiney
Its glare seemingly harder somehow
As the voices of neighbours are harder and loud
Amplified in the closeness, proximity defeats
The possibility of keeping our vacation Secret.
“Ah you’re home?! It must have been grand.”
“You’re looking fierce well, were you out on the strand?”
And the questions push mirrors before our beautiful lives
And our ghostly, but real memories merely live on inside.