Staring down the weathered driveway
I return to the thought of my grandad's death
and how I'd like to also die
embraced by a warm glow and hall of photographs
from along my journey
On my walk home I saw another ghost
wrapped in a pink jacket
she stared off at the hill her bus would appear
as the wind blew her white tufts sticking out her hood
and she leant on her stroller
I couldn't get a glimpse of her face - it was obscured
She send me back to a time where I'd catch a bus with quite a similar woman
she could have been her for all I know
It's in moments like those
where some old ghosts return
to embrace and comfort
those who deal with their loss
but also to remind us
of something we will soon learn