Family tradition.
I feel a hand touching my hair but when I look there’s no one there.
And then I settle down to rest again I felt my hair caressed.
I’ve no idea what it might be. It seems to mean no harm to me.
I’m wide awake I m not dreaming. The gentle moonlight softly beaming
through the window of my room, firmly dispels the twilight gloom Although there’s nothing I can see, some thing is caressing me.
It feels somehow familiar and I recall my Grandmama
Who used to sit beside my bed and very gently stroke my head.
when I was just a little lad. A memory both sweet and sad.
I have returned to my old home back to my roots no more to roam.
Perhaps her spirit lingers here and that is why I feel no fear.
I felt this old house calling me insistently and constantly.
Which finally decided me that this where I ought to be.
It has been in my family for two and one half centuries.
I think that very probably my eldest son will follow me.
Just as I followed my own Dad. If he did not it would be sad.
We are an ancient family part of the local history.
They say there is a prophecy and I believe there may well be.
Which says we must come home to die. That it is true I can’t deny.
Nor can I guarantee its true I leave that question up to you.
Monday,17 May 2010
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Added by Poetry Lover
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