Release

The old man, it seems, is asleep in his chair,
Unaware of the world all around.
With his tired eyes closed and with thinning grey hair,
All his thoughts and his memories are wandering elsewhere
With his feelings so deep and profound.

Recalling the years and the days which have fled,
The days when his children were small,
He relives the times of enjoyment and dread,
Of things that were done, and of things that were said:
Events he can vaguely recall.

The family life in the formative years
Of the children they had in their care
Sometimes had its laughter, sometimes had its tears,
And the young ones approached all of life with no fears.
Now life has become solitaire.

The children have long since vacated the nest;
The next generation they own.
And his wife, his sweetheart, the one he loved best
Has gone, and he grieved as he laid her to rest:
For twenty five years now alone.

But still in his heart is a father's concern,
(For we give birth, we nurture, we leave.)
But how are they coping with life in their turn?
Is there more he could give? Is there more they could learn?
That is now for themselves to achieve.

The old man, it seems, is asleep in his chair,
Unaware of the world all around,
With his tired eyes closed and with thinning grey hair.
But all is not now as it seems with him there,
For his soul now in heaven is found.

© Tom Chapman 2010