The sun brings out the colours.
From my back garden seat I view a tall ship
half way through its long voyage,
journeying across my teenage son’s bedroom window,
sails catching a strong wind,
he is away from us.
My daughter dances in the kitchen,
she doesn’t see me catch her moves,
the radio plays to her spirit.
My wife is a poem,
she reads her book on a sun-chair.
A robin redbreast studies me from the roses as I write.
Lots of sparrows have arrived
and the dog is chasing shadows.
He will come home again, soon.
Michael J. Whelan
Included in the forthcoming ‘Virginia House Writers’ 20th Anniversary Anthology,’ 2016 edited by Maria Wallace.
This poem was written a few years ago when my son Mikey had been away from home for few days. Over…
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