An Old Man Walks Home
In the garden there grows a crippled tree
heavy with crab-apples
food for worms
and wasps.
In the garden pond
the frogs float
grim faced
they blink and croak.
On the outhouse roof
the owl rests
patient for the night
Magritte’s clock with no hands.
Homeward on the wing
not contending with the problem
of where he came from
the white dove.
And below is an old man
walking home and wondering why
he was given the ability
to question it all.
In the kitchen
his wife
face to face with twilight
draws the curtains.
• Gwilym Williams is a regular contributor to IS&T. He says of this poem that “like autumn and Magritte it’s all a bit sad” – well its meant to be spring soon but outside my window there is a blizzard blowing, so I think sad is appropriate today …Charles Christian