For Absent Friends

Sunday at six when they close both the gates

A widowed pair, still sitting there

Wonder if they're late for church

And it's cold so they fasten their coats

And cross the grass, they're always last

Passing by the padlocked swings

The roundabout still turning

Ahead they see a small girl

On her way home with a pram

Inside the archway

The priest greets them with a courteous nod

He's close to God

Looking back at days of four instead of two

Years seem so few

Heads bent in prayer

For friends not there

Leaving twopence on the plate

They hurry down the path and through the gate

And wait to board the bus

That ambles down the street