22 DECEMBER 1990, Page 67

The Love-Light

Balanced in our hall-way On the kitchen chair I'd brought him, each year Weightier, more anxiously Precarious, laughing less And long about it, he would Hang the mistletoe, its points Of pearly love-light, fixing them Then stepping down, unbending With a sigh of Not so young now Straightening up again To the familiar height of Father where he should be, both feet Firmly on the ground and calling All of us — myself already there But mother first — to Try it out, he'd say His arms around us, each year Tighter, a more precious Keeping, then last thing To wind the clock, reminding us It's getting late and all there was To do tomorrow.

John Mole