so yes, you are ok, i think so anyhow
i shall miss my visits up the hill
to your house
looking at the string by your front door
i shall miss your pretty living room
the folded paper by the fire all so tidy
so i shall knit you a cloth for your stove
handle
cos it is hot
to touch
when we toast the buns
and i burn them. i shall
miss the butter and your
tidy ways
maybe in the autumn i
will be allowed out to visit again
to sit by your fire
and feel safe
with you
Excellent poem about where we are, the enforced isolation at a time when what all of us long for is a hug