The deepest hue blue Longwyspill,
vase - that serves yet - as ornament,
blooms with deep toned taper shafts,
brittle, gaudy in Edwardian.
And Grandpa, also short, selects,
stoops to grate, bell-push aside,
and makes a meal of pipe-lighting,
a leisurely affair for him,
for me, professional at work.
In his chamber, first packed then tamped,
over dottle, stummel caressed,
while ring of fire, floats round above,
will-o’-the-wisp, that glow about.
A low rite muse, reflection now,
a retrospective, curling smoke.
Then the lifeboat siren sounds
and wailing straight unsettles Mum -
the Blitz she knew has reappeared.