Thief

I am old. I have lost six teeth From my shrunkengums My breasts are shrivelled gourds My babes have morphed into parents All but one. I have buried my eldest son Every year twists lines on my face I think I ‘m a wicker basket With knotty bones And a heart in a metal casket No possession claims me Next to my skin, like a rosary I wore my dead son's hair in a silver locket In sorrow I wore it Till a thief stole it I am not ageing well My days are coins unspent I am jealous of the hawk that wheels in the high sky My feet are claggy's cement Ageing is as inevitable as the tides As stars in their cosmic motions I look at nodding harebells And see the ghostly heads Of monks at their devotions