"Paddy"

(That's short for Patricia, not one of my Irish friends)

Our parting tears

Yours and mine

I gathered in

A blue paisley

Handkerchief.

I rolled it tightly

And sewed it shut

Tight, neat, little

Stitches,

And tried to forget

I joined the Army

To forget.

Because I couldn't 

Speak French

And a daily ration

Of rough sour wine

Didn't interest me.

But climbing mountains

Did. Canoeing

Rivers did!

Years later,

Mountains and

Valleys later.

Loves later,

Service and wounds later.

Captivities and Freedoms later,

Sacrifice and rebirths later,

I found the handkerchief

And that little wooden mouse

In my folk's attic,

Among other dusty traces

Of vanished youth.

I cut the stitches,

and unrolled the handkerchief.

The tears were 

No longer there.

Now fifty years

Later. The pain

Has gone. Even

The longing.

But perhaps

Like a faded spot

On an old tear stained handkerchief

There is a trace,

Just a shadow,

Of regret,

At what we missed,

At what we might have been.

But your memory warms

My old heart. Thank you.

Fare thee well!

Copyright © Res JFB 6th March 2011

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