Of a son

You were one of four
I wouldn’t want more.
This was joy sublime.
Never in my time
Had I thought of you.
Not until you grew
Then I realised
Became mesmerised.
This little chap who
Had landed brand new.
Turned my life around;
Shook the very ground
Beneath the complacent,
Once independent.

A better father
Were I to be there
I think I’d never find.
Generous and kind,
Maybe to a fault
But real ale and malt
Whisky chasing dram
Reveals the true Sam
Which life’s troubles hide.
And instead confide
The troubled man who
Wasn’t the boy I knew.
This handsome charming
Fellow could bring
Joy to any life
(Except his first wife).

Here deep waters un-
touched by brooding sun
Cannot hide the work
He feigns to shirk.
Such is decency.
And pomposity
Berate him daily.
Still he manages
And disparages
Those who cannot see
Hidden dignity.
Yes, you would escape
To fresh fields – the grape!
And find in Hungary
A new family.

Here this English field
In green shadows stealed
The white clad players
Through lazy summers.
A quiet spoken guy
None harder would try.
“My name is Samuel,
I ravish the duel.”
But the friend I know
Would in faith bestow
A kind heart and soul
In every part whole
For someone in need.
Any race or creed
Matters not at all
Straight is bat on ball.

Candidly I may
Feel impelled to say
With hand on my heart
In discussing art
He is a writer
Few I think better
Though he must believe
Himself to achieve.
All that’s possible
But there’s the trouble
Confounding demands
On debated grounds
Set the world askance
And can’t help but chance
To distract the chap
From destiny’s map
But he will proceed
And at last succeed.

© RM Meyer
February 2019