At times, these days, I’m certain that I hear
Or think I hear your tread upon the floor
But when I glance from ‘neath my silent tear
‘Tis but a breath of air, and nothing more.
Do I now sense you there as morning sun
Breaks brightly in the top of leafy tree
Could you be in the birds on wing, my son?
Or by the shores of Autumn’s restless sea?
These mysteries too deep for me to know
There’s naught to do but live each day by day
From Summer’s calm to Winter winds that blow;
The wind that blew my darling boy away.
Dear Jake, I look for you both near and far
From here on earth, to heaven’s brightest star.
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Haunting but lovely… Keep writing, Ed. Love to Terry.
Yes, I am haunted now.
No arguing or changing that.
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