Eden Rock by Charles Causley

They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: 
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit 
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack 
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.

My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress 
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat, 
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass. 
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.

She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight 
From an old H.P. Sauce bottle, a screw 
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out 
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.

The sky whitens as if lit by three suns. 
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way 
Over the drifted stream. My father spins 
A stone along the water. Leisurely,

They beckon to me from the other bank. 
I hear them call, 'See where the stream-path is! 
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.

I had not thought that it would be like this.

Eden Rock by Charles Causley