PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

We went by train
to an old familiar
seaside resort
with children
and grandchildren
and others as such;
and it was a good day
with fine weather;
and the laughter of children
and the distraction
of their enjoyment
on the beach, but you
my son,weren't there,
or if you were in spirit,
I was unaware.

But I guess you were,
there amongst us
tagging along,
your silence and humour
there in spirit,
remembering as I did
the days when you
were young and played
upon this beach
with your brothers
and sisters
of a much tender age.

I wish now I was able
to turn back to that time
as if in a book's page;
to relive those times,
hold on to the excitement
and youth of that time,
but time passes us on,
and on we go whether
we wish to or no;
the times passing us by,
moving us on
in a continuing motion.

The children played
on the sand, I watched
the wide expanse of ocean;
the constant rush of the tide;
the memories of you, my son,
out there, playing on the edge
with your bucket and spade,
engrossed in the game.

We went to the seaside and beach,
but it will never be the same;
now you will always be,
seemingly, out of reach.