I sat here a year ago,
in Southwark Park
that early eve
when time felt slow.

Today it's noisy,
and you're not here,
yet thoughts and memories,
keep you near.

Crack goes a cricket bat,
the roaring of a plane,
children scream on and on,
playing all the same.

The trees remain just as loud,
whispering away,
muttering about the creatures
whom in the sunshine lay.

The plane drifting up above,
in between the clouds,
it's sound circling down below
in amongst the crowds.

On the grass lay many leaves,
as they did last year,
crunching underfoot just the same
had you been sat here.

Cricketers yell here and there,
chasing a little red ball,
it dots about the circled pitch,
that makes them cry and call.

I sit here by myself today,
observing those around,
no longer in that little bubble,
that felt so safe and sound.

I like this park,
Southwark park,
I think I'll come again.
Perhaps next time not alone
but with a marvellous friend.