I was sitting on a plant pot in my grandads old backyard

He used to be a  miner, so he had a love of birds

Grandad loved canaries I liked little wrens

We had few up in Manchester, we had big mills and rain,

Grandad had no deck chairs that’s why we sat on pots

When we went to Blackpool we had deck chairs by the lot

We went to Southport on the train, the sand was like sick dust

The sea was just a mirage, go there if you must.

The people were all friendly they called each other cock

If you go there in the morning I wish you you much good luck

I was sitting in the plant pot hiding from the dog

Grandad called her lassie, she died at 6 oclock

Still within her Arm I stood to gaze

Enraptured by the light upon her face.

With my little hands therein I played

As she held me with her fond embrace.

I put my baby fingers in her mouth.

I pulled her lips from side to side north south.

I felt her smile with joy I had not known.

In many hours and days I felt alone.

I squeezed her nose and pulled it side to side.

I did all this for on her knee I rode.

The ground of being and a true life line.

I was hers and she was always mine.

Transfiguration comes, love feels divine.

The artist brush must open up the mind.

And lets us see a world with our wide eyes.

Eternal love may cone in this disguise

https://www.theguardian.com/society/2023/apr/24/half-uk-public-fear-family-would-not-be-well-looked-after-in-care-homes?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Other