Pain.
When you're three
and bruised knees are a world's end

Pain
When you're eighteen
and she loves you not

Distress.
When you're fifty
and youth waves at you
from the back of a car
and all the trains have one way railways
leaving the station
your life used to be

Sleep
when rest becomes a green place
with trees and grass
and nephews forgetting to visit

Me, beside you
always a shadow or thought
but never really there
because of a door you chose to close
one summer day