The Gone-child

rls_03-09-2002_0388Fresh talc and terry-towelling smell

Rhymes and stories longing to tell

Spotting that very first baby tooth

Eyes searching mine for some loving truth


Lighting one candle on the birthday cake

Leisurely walks around the park lake

Holding hands and showing I care

Talking of others, no longer here


Laughing at furrows on my ageing brow

Answering questions about why and how

Forbidden sweets shared when none can see

Just coming round for Sunday tea


Don’t ask which of these pleasures I miss the most

For none are matters about which I can boast

And, knowing these things might never be

I must miss them all, but secretly.

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