Once we shared a rose tinted friendship, but time and distance thinned the ties between us to tenuous frailty. Now we meet on a crowded city street to share lunch and memories, but the yarn will not reknit.

Faith is yet only a fitful glimmer in me and yet its narrow beam pierces the emptiness of your journey from man to man in vain hope of the one perfect love. That empty space within you . . . the holy hole . . . recognises the one true lover and your pride cries, "Not so!" So you take the scalpel of your fear and cut that final fraying thread between us.

Regret darkens my world for a time.

Perhaps one day that glimpse of what could be will enable you to retie our friendship knot.



Did your gaze turn heavenward, as you lay on your back, in the shell-blasted mud and blood of that Flanders field, so that I can stroll in this peaceful garden?

Did you look to the light, as your face pressed to the sand of that gore-slicked June beach, so that I could stand, inhaling this clear autumn day?

Did you understand, as I never can, what it is to sacrifice all for someone unseen, and as yet unborn? Do you stand now, in the embrace of Him who did the same for both of us?

One day, I hope to take your hand in thanks. For now … I will remember.



I scrawl my scattered dreams on screeds of paper. They drift and tumble about me like fading weeds in the wind . . . ill rooted, stunted and half formed.

Then you step in. Your hands catch to sift and sort each stained and tattered scrap and sheet. Your pen lovingly brackets and dots, re-arranging but never striking through.

To you every word holds meaning. Every paragraph is a precious record of my life worth the listening.

And when I reach THE END it will comfort me to smile and see the symmetry you have wrought.