One Last Mandarin

one last mandarin

in the crystal bowl

warming in sunbeams

eight minutes old

two young travellers

kissing in the dark

jeans slide down

in a night train car

three together wait

'til nurses find a space

funny as a heart attack

but you can't stay awake

four red leaves

on a snowy bough

woodsmoke rises

silent as the snow

five smiling friends

sipping local red

plotting adventures
for the day ahead

six stout mayors

hoist their village flags

honouring the fallen

who won their liberté

seven score pinecones

musty underneath

bring me the glue gun

and we will start a wreath 

eight little trilliums

near my mother's grave

stand and remember

in the falling rain

~e