David Weaver
gone but not forgotten
'A poet's journey'
By DKW
Last night I gently kissed your cheek,
with the lightest touch of all.
Like a butterflies wing stroking moonbeams,
or the rustle from a babies shawl.
I stared at your face and remembered the time,
when you were but sixteen years old.
The lovely eyes that half formed smile,
but the choirboy not so bold.
How could he dare to tell her the truth,
with the words of love hard to find.
For each time he plucked up the courage,
what he wanted to pledge left his mind.
As he grew brave with the passing of years,
with the words falling free from his lips.
He wrote them all down into hundreds of poems,
dream dancing much brushing of hips.
But nature is harsh with the her judgement,
for in cyclones the journals got lost.
Words gathered up by the wind and the rain,
scattered far and wide was the cost.
But sometimes if you are attentive and care,
you can listen to the breathing earth.
Words drifting bye once thought lost on the wind,
are now gathered up for rebirth.
So now when I look down at your sleeping face,
and my hand reaches out for your touch.
Don't push me away till you’ve given it thought,
for this journey near end still means much.
Just a feeble old man without much to show,
only memories from the past still to cling.
Takes time to remember the happiness,
as the smile in his heart starts to sing.