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Last Meeting

My father, you were cold and grey
The last time we did meet,
You didn't speak to me at all,
Were covered in a sheet,
Your eyes were open, stared at me
But didn't see a thing,
I felt the love gush from my eyes
Like water, from a spring.

I thought that you were hiding,
That you'd played some trick on me,
That presently you'd jump on out
The way it used to be,
We'd laugh about it then for years
And mother would join in,
But still you lay, ignoring me,
The silence growing thin.

I touched you, and you were so cold,
So icy lying there,
I felt the chill surrounding me,
The chill of your cold stare,
And where the wit I'd grown to love,
The wisdom you had shown?
You answered in your silence then,
'You must go home alone! '

I never thought I'd see the day
When you were not around,
Set in the background of my life,
Your comments, so profound,
I left a part of me behind
With you, once you had gone,
'Last meeting' was not yesterday;
Your Death's now Twenty One!

poem by David Lewis Paget
Added by Poetry Lover
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