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Oct 24
There, in those final moments
I could say at last all of the things
that I could not say before
His eyes were closed,
his chest unmoving so it seemed
I could not tell whether he heard me
whether or not he listened
or simply dreamed

Gone was the smile that often
around his mouth would play
gone was the twinkle in his eye
gone the long words he'd often,
teasingly, whilst chuckling, say.

I had not known him for so many years
he was just a word in a dictionary
Father, Dad, Papa, call him what one may
I never really knew him
there were few chances
yes, there had been cards, letters
but sometimes he seemed
like just another person
distant, and far, too far, away

But, years later, I really got to know
this man, my Father,
the one I so resembled
as my Mother would often say
I learned that he, like me, loved words
how, again like me, he loved drawing
how, with puzzles, with riddles
he would often play

And, in those final moments
as he slipped into that distant, far off land
that was when I kissed him on his forehead
and held, for the first and final time
his flaccid, for once penless, hand
for my Father
sheila sharpe
Written by
sheila sharpe  72/F/Kegworth
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