I see him every night.
My little boy.
I watched him play in the field.
Felt him as he climbed my limbs.
I laughed when he did.
Felt his tears when he cried.
Then he left me.
I felt his spirit at times,
knowing he was near.
But times change and
a man seldom remembers
the fantasies he played
climbing trees.
Then death came to my mother.
No more walnuts would ripen,
I cried hearing the whine
of the saw.
His best friend Johnny
saved a branch, me.
I did not know why.
Then one day Johnny took
me for a ride.
Gave me to
my little boy who almost died.
I helped him walk till he was
strong enough to step
out again on his
own.
Now I hang upon the wall
waiting.
Wondering if he still
needs me.
If he even sees me.
We have so many memories.
I wait.
A contest entry
- Inanimate Objects... by surface--tension.
600 points, ended May 21, 2008, 28 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
-
Deeply touching write! Best to you in the contest!!!
Az
-
So many tales this old walking stick could spin...in the corner waiting to be passed down as the needs aris .. funny how life can be like that at times propped up in the corner the elderly await..nicely penned.
good luck in this contest.
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