Yet I remember  Teesdale and High Force

When I was young he liked to brush my hair
He bought a special brush from somewhere posh
Down my back  my hair flowed  gold and fair
The best of all my features, long and lush

Now he is gone and so are my long curls
My eyes a blue as singular as  flowers
My hair is thin and pale  like  broken pearls
My eyes are wet  with tears  for many hours

When  I wake I’m listening for his step
Is he in the bathroom, is he near?
Then once again, my loss I must  accept
No cup of tea, no  greeting and no  cheer

Yet I remember  Teesdale and High Force
His   joy and my desire  were not a curse