I remember that wool coat she wore even in summer;
Blue with ridges of black running horizontally.
We walked along the bright beach at Rhyl
It was Sunday morning;I has a new missal
I think I lost it with its gold edged pages that morning
I was happy to be alone with her
Just left primary school.
Hardly ever was alone with her to talk.
She seemed almost happy ;three years of widow-hood
Had almost knocked her down.
She seemed for a few minutes
The woman she used to be.
When you lose one parent, you lose three.
The one left is not the one she used to be
And their conjunction had another being
That’s why I said three.
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