A new poem

It is rare these days that I write poetry even if I am aware that It is my stock and trade. It is what I am mostly known for but over many years now I have cast it aside in favour of "Fiction" Yet for some odd reason it has reared it's (not so ugly) head tonight and so a new poem from me. I hope that you will like it.

I have no Idea yet what to call it.

Everything will be a disappointment, everything will be worthless,

Everything will be useless and hopeless until; You see a child's smiling face, laughing and wreathed in lace. The sun breaks through the clouds on a storm-filled day, you see the moon, etched in silver on the prettiest pale blue sky you smile and you don't know why. Everything is worthless, money, dirt and shit, rubbish and offal strewn around your feet until you look up and see the wonders that surround us, all around us. Leaves on sturdy trees in the autumn; red, yellow, gold and auburn. My wife's ruby, red stained lips, and the touch of her fingertips, The miraculous hover of the Kestrel on a southern wind and that the joy the warmth brings, When summer comes.

Life is a veil of tears till' we see the squirrels cavorting in the trees, fathers on their knees looking out for their children who are crying; an ice cream please? The magpies hopping as they tease superstition from the foolish, the young rabbits eating at the side of the road, the occasional sight of a toad, re-enactments, of battles, with men covered in authentic woad, and men garbed in clothes created by doubting wives who sowed costumes for them. Just because they love them.

. Everything is a waste of time from our birth to our reaping, everything is sorrow but even upon the weeping willow, young sparrows cavort in puff ball, feather, madness, enjoying the short summer in a hopeless orgy of flight and food. The butterfly, flutters, the moth stutters at our windows at night, The mouse scurries, the snow, soon to come, flurries.

It is too cold, and I have grown old, My children have their own lives, their own wives and husbands, life's past and life's yet to come flutter in my fading mind. You have so much to learn my children, so many disappointments to come, so many hopes that will be shattered, so many things that matter, will matter less. Yet fearing all I hope for you is that you remain, my children, the true love of my life.