In memory of Ann Byrne-Sutton
No; the very best would be to get lost willingly,
Anywhere on the Tibetan Plateau.
At least I’d be out of the way, there;
Way out there; way up there;
Well out of reach of any maker;
Feeding snow leopards and bearded vultures
Till only my bones were left,
Still whistling in the wind;
Attended sometimes by the Yeti,
Who’d find me safe and amusing:
Prostrated against the cold,
In the foetal position of my birth;
With a smile on my face, surely;
For my final vista would have been
Either imperious summits glistening in the sunny snow
All-round the roof of the world,
Right under infinite space so near as reachable;
Or a black velvet night, stirring full of stars!
Way to go!
©Patrick de Broux 2018
Patrick de Broux settled in Britain from his native Belgium in 1977. In 2006, he retired to Pembrokeshire, which had left an indelible impression on him during a first visit there in the autumn of 1974. He has been writing poetry since childhood, first in his mother tongue of French, and later in English. He was a member of PENfro Poets from October 2013 until January 2015 and re-joined the group in November 2017.