Again our little one
is pacing up and down

the corridor, gripping
that metal rail at the end

for the turn,
her face pre-occupied, firm.

Sometimes she'll pause
at the glass-panelled doors,

and child-like, stare
at the other world out there.

When she thumps and rattles the lock
a nurse will gently take

her old hand, ease her round
to resume the progression.

Food's her passion. She'll come
and raid the dining-room;

must be restrained from darts
at other people's plates.

She may curl on a sill or chair,
her head flopped over.

At times she'll answer me
unexpectedly

and her features kindle
in a radiant smile

of friendship, a gleam
of wellbeing

we can share. But I alone
am going home.

-Ruth Marden

Going to heaven by tram

Whilst some hold back
from the new mode of transport,
others rush into the blaze
to get on line.
And oh the stars in the clear dark sky!
- better far than fireworks.
Then the one bright star
consuming all in its fierce flame.
The composition cries out
for an artist - or a postcard.

- Roland Challis