To Dry A Tear
Once as a child I dreamt I could fly
soar like a bird high in the sky,
when I was ten I actually did try
leapt from a window two stories high.
Cardboard cut outs tied on with string
painted feathers to adorn each wing,
flapped both arms, fell to the ground
hit the lawn with a thudding sound.
Mum was furious Dad spitting mad
brother Colin, seemed somewhat glad.
Alas boyhood days that did soon disappear
when mum became an angel, later that year,
a childhood dream to a memory held dear,
that kiss from a mother, to dry a tear.
In response to Betty’s request