A Poem I wrote over a decade ago for my son, Michael:
The wide-eyed grin of my baby boy
Smiles back at me from pages worn.
A little boy with ball and mitt,
Next older, opening Christmas gifts.
The troubled adolescent frowns,
But other images I own…
A boy building sand castles upon the shore,
Riding bikes, and there are more….
A boy who chased through trees and moors,
A young man who a uniform wore.
Photographs of past loves and loss,
Beside his bride, content and grown.
Now separated by time and space,
Now thrust apart by memories torn,
I miss my son, flesh of my flesh,
I miss his smile and his embrace.
Still, in these pages that I turn
There yet remains the younger boy,
Who can recall the moments when,
He knew that he too loved me then.
One written for my son, Tod:
Phone Calls From Heaven
I’m lonelier now that my son has moved to heaven.
He doesn’t write or send postcards from there.
I hear it is a lovely place, this heaven,
So say the folks who’ve never once been there.
They say it is a kinder, gentler place, this heaven.
They say there is no sorrow or travails,
They say when in my dreams I see him,
It is he calling me from there.
DJR Oct 2015
dottieriley 