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More poems about Children

HOME TOO LATE
He did not knock as he entered for it was still his home,
Yet it was years ago when he left far away to roam,
The draperies were different, and a new front door,
A different dog lay sprawled in the hall on the floor.

His heart quelled for a moment, had they all moved away?
Was this still the same place like when he first went astray?
Would they still want him in this dear sweet home again?
Had they moved away crushed by their hurt and pain?

Moma! Papa! He called, like when he was quite small,
Only the dog lifted his head, wagged his tail at his call,
He walked through to the kitchen but there was no one there,
Just the leftover smell of food lingering in the warm air.

The back door was ajar, and he stepped into the old yard,
He called again, then he heard a voice all cold and hard,
‘You came home too late son, mom could no longer wait
For a son who went away, no one knowing of his fate.

His father stood there gaunt and old eyes cold as steel.
‘Ma blamed herself for you going, she never did heal,
Yet every night she’d pray that you were safe and well,
But her deep hurt continued and I wished you in hell.’

The son spoke no words, what was there left to be said?
It was because of him his mother far too soon was dead,
He walked to the front door, bent and rubbed the dogs ears,
Walked through the door all alone wiping away his tears.

Just as he reached the gate he heard a husky voice say,
‘Well son, why don’t you just for a few nights with me stay.’
They met part way along the path in one strong embrace,
And the hard lines quickly left the old man’s weary face.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 6 June 2004
2004/3902/toolate/family/children
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