Peter Branson, South Cheshire, England
For Chris & Richard
Fledged years ago, slowly at first; week old,
left shopping in your pram, remembered half-
way home; a bucketful of sun, aged four,
adopted by that girl on whispering sand.
That’s how it’s meant to be, a seed that grows,
takes wing and thrives far from the tree. Own space
these days and difficult to find the time;
occasionally you e mail, text or phone,
send sluggish birthday cards, apologise,
make flying visits, one for each blue moon.
We’re used to life alone, yet when you’re due
to stay, we just can’t wait. Restless, you leave
too soon. We grieve, but, truth to tell, whole brave
new world out there, you’re in our way as well.