In her attic, there lay a box of memories,
A treasure trove of moments frozen in time,
Photographs of days gone by, of smiling faces,
Old churches whose bells still chime in my mind.
As I sifted through this box of treasures,
I stumbled upon prints of Bradford’s architecture,
A city stoic and proud, with buildings tall and grand,
A testament to its history, these buildings still stand.
And as I gazed upon these structures,
My heart ached with both joy and sorrow,
Though these buildings stood so tall and mighty,
I knew they were in the shadow of tomorrow.
Mum’s passing taught me this,
That life is but a fleeting moment in time,
And all that we hold dear, all that we cherish,
Can be lost in a blink or a rhyme.
So as I looked at those old prints of Bradford,
I felt a sense of awe and humility,
They reminded me of the power of memories,
And the importance of cherishing them with dignity.
And though Mum may be gone, her memory remains,
Preserved forever in those old prints and photographs,
A legacy of love that will always remain,
A beacon of light in the shadows of the past.
Steve Halstead.
The Yorkshire Poet & Friends 