Easy

You see the lovers, sitting,

Holding hands outside the café,

Perfect you would think to yourself,

Just perfect,

Yet for a fleeting moment there is a look in one of the couple's eyes

Which screams, that the end has finally arrived.

The woman walks the long street, watching and smiling at

The babies in their prams, and the mothers and fathers,

all smile back wondering what the woman is wanting.

What the woman wants - is to know, that had her child lived

What she would have been doing today. Who she would have been loving.

The vicar sits by the window of the church, looking out on to the world

That he has tried to save for nearly forty years,

He slips down another whisky, and another but nothing

Can warm his soul the way that God did in the past,

That was, until he stopped believing.

The little boy stands outside the house where his father has moved,

This is the place where that woman lives, the one who destroyed the family

- According to his mother.

And all around the houses, and streets, and villages, and towns, and cities,

They are all singing the same hymn:

“No one gets it easy any more”.

bobby stevenson 2019