I’m sitting here in my dust-free home
My grownup kids nearby
But still I feel I’m all alone
As I wait my turn to die.
My health’s okay But I’m growing old
So I know my time is near
On a bright Spring day I feel the cold
And my mind’s no longer clear.
I’ve had many a walk along the coast
And ate in a smart café
But I remember most a slice of toast
With my ma on a winter’s day
Held by a fork up close to the flame
The crust was burnt and black
But it tasted lovely, all the same
I think now, looking back.
I sit here, trying to recall
A time I can’t buy or hire
And a meal that I loved best of all -
A slice of toast by the fire.