Still Set for Two

Every night at six,

she'd lay out the cloth,

Two china plates and the good brown pot,

One place for her,

and one by the door,

For a man who never came home from the war.

I was born that spring,

never saw his face,

But I grew up knowing he still had his place,

His cup on the saucer,

his chair by the wall,

Like he'd just stepped out and would be back for it all.

Still set for two,

through the years and the tears,

His cup and his plate there for sixty-odd years,

The world moved along,

but her love held true,

And her table was always

still set for two.

Folks in the village would shake their heads,

"Time to let go,

love," the vicar said,

But she'd polish his cup and she'd wink at me,

"Your father still takes two sugars in his tea."

Through the Coronation, the flood and the freeze,

Through grandkids climbing all over her knees,

She never once moved it,

not even a day — Some promises don't get put away.

Still set for two,

through the years and the tears,

His cup and his plate there for sixty-odd years,

The world moved along,

but her love held true,

And her table was always still set for two.

Last winter I came round at six,

like I do,

The kettle still warm and the cloth laid out new,

She'd gone in her sleep with his photo in hand,

And a smile on her face I could just understand

— For the first time in sixty years,

somebody came

To sit at that table

and call her by name.

Still set for two,

and I've left it that way,

Two cups and two plates,

like she laid them each day,

The world moves along,

but their love's shining through

— Tonight, Mum and Dad,

it's still set for two.

Still set for two...