Thursday, 14 June 2018


A life ago my father said, “I saw
your plane pass overhead; stood alone in
wind and rain and watched you go.” I shrugged and
went upon my way, “Choose the way you waste
your day. I've hay to make and seed to sow.”

Then, amid the hours of feeding pets and
tending flowers, I saw the vapour-trail
bisect the sky, a tear spilt by the bluest
eye as you went out to set-about a
world I'd left undone – to sing the songs I
couldn't hum, and all my love was on the
wing in tender wistful thoughts of you that
day. My father must have felt this too but
couldn't say, and I, the one with life to
find, wouldn't pause to read his mind. I know
it's much the same for you, just doing what
you have to do, but if we never say
or show, how can the other ever know?

The one is always unaware as at
the other's heart they tear. My sorrow as
you speed away is full of words we did
not say. Maybe one-day you'll feel this
too... in the mirror-world of me and you.

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