You spoke softly of heading East..of making your way home to Wales.
You with your wisdoms, older now, wee bit travel worn. Fleece jacket faded, crudely mended up the side where torn. Black and red suitcase battered,(A disgraceful sight some may say). Since you left I look for you at times about the city, look for that distant hint of plaid, when I make the left turn onto the highway.
In our quiet apartment, by the window, over the harbor, notes and papers stacked high beside my turquoise chair..Godfrey asked me if I could write it, a message to old friends- The Vagabond’s Prayer.
..When the chatter around you turns to shoes, and who has more pairs than they will ever use, and all you ask is one time to see again, to walk with old comrades over Salisbury Plain, Sarah, Whiskey Woman, Abigail, Spud and The Shannon One. Ruddy with the cold, laughing, we are all so young. With our wooly hats, and muddy gumboots on. Please share a Vagabond’s Prayer, to the women of Greenham Common.
Oh when the body with old age fails, leave please, mind and memory. Let mine be of sunlight filtered through the beech trees. There ankle deep in gurgling creek, stands Godfrey. He is panning in the gravel, smiling, seeking flecks of gold, or a nugget of jade for me. For all of the searchers still out there. I will think of you with joy and say a Vagabond’s Prayer.
So I speak soft of heading east, if you do go east keep roaming. You will come over hills to the Westland he loved best. There unforgiving, the Tasman Sea, will welcome me and wash all care away clean, in Punakaiki. Let me sleep on the warm sand, fish the river’s side, have my days end where Godfrey learned what it is to be free.
Write with a stick at low tide,.. write a Vagabond’s Prayer, for Punakaiki..