“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” I said. “Would you like to see some love poetry?”

“Sure!” she said.

“I have a short collection called ‘When Love Dies. How about that to start?”

“Hmm,” she said. “I’m not sure. But let’s take a look.”

“The first is called Festival’s End,” I said.

Festival’s End

Sleep on a little longer yet.

Let not the day confront my eyes too soon.

Still let me gaze a little while

on stolen shared serenity

that once was our possession as of right.

And let me warm myself once more

upon dying embers of the flames

that once burned incandescent in your soul.


Sleep on a little longer yet.

Permit me one more time to stand and gaze

on blood red cirrus clouds

and gliding gulls on mourning winds;

poetic swan songs let me pen a while.

Collude with me in self deception still

that you will want to read the words I write.


Sleep on a little longer yet;

until the morning steals the silhouettes

of castle walls and towering cliffs

and splashes careless colours on the day.

Allow me to believe a moment more

in fairy tales and magic spells

and dragons slain by power of truth

and love that lasts eternally;

at least until the city wakes

and traffic noise burns off the transient night,

till morning shines on towering cranes

that flaunt their rule on building sites,

and in aggressive self importance

break the flowing metre of the sky line.


Sleep on a little longer yet.

Let not the day affront serenity too soon.

Still let me stand a moment and pretend

from vantage point of elevated peace

that Edinburgh still dances highland jigs

and gives itself to passion and to play,

postponing summer’s end another day.

Let joyful songs still resonate

while juggling buskers toss my thoughts

and catch my soul with elegance

then stop a while to bow for my applause.




Sleep on a little longer yet

For once again I weave my way

through winding lanes within my mind

between the players and their audiences

uncertain in my dream of which I am.

For once a time I knew myself

a leading actor on your cast,

but foolishly have yielded centre stage.

And now I stand by ticket booths

to count love’s coins and just afford

the cheapest pass to lowliest seat;

and thus take up spectator’s place

to watch the story of your life unfold.

Sleep on a little longer yet

And, resolute for now, I shall pretend

and fool myself another lifetime more

that morning does not summon you,

the Festival has time to run

and we are not in Edinburgh on borrowed time.


  1. This one literally moved me on the edge of my seat. I was stunned how Sir Michael Forester expressed his sadness in this poem but at the same time, created a lighter imagery through his genuine narrating and wordings.

    This poem tells us how painful it is to be away from someone or something we loved. Our desperation to do everything just to lengthen the day so we could stay with them a little longer.

    It’s amazing how he made that feeling lighter, by narrating it intelligently but soulfully.

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