May day
and the days intertwine
in the dance of the year.
May day again
fifty-five years on
and tomorrow brings
the maypole back
to the village green.
Patterns of earlier years emerge
in their seasonal changes,
never quite the same;
ribbons age and fade.
I remember:
weeks of practice,
clean shirts and short trousers,
Mr Faiers at the piano,
a herald announcing the May Queen
I remember
our ‘spiders web’
slowly revealing itself
in green and yellow ribbons.
And our lives
slowly reveal themselves
in their own spiders web
of intertwinings.
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