1931 – 1977

In the pockets of my life
I have always found your hand
with soft thin skin
and thick warm arms
you safeguarded my eyes
and filled my ears
with your heart’s deep drum.

Countless times the cupboards empty
you fed three minds
with your gift of love
not wrapped once like Christmas morning
or expecting anything in return
you replaced the material
with the ethereal
and gave me time to grow, to learn;
yet I squandered far too many years
on a long imperfect need
until I heard your truth echoed
somewhere across the sea.

© D. Archer March 2012