John F. McCullagh
She’d liked their life the way it was;
their Pied de Terre above Broadway.
Now her lawyers indicate
It must be sold, there’s tax to pay...
His daughter seldom ever calls.
since her father’s burial day..
She would be someone to share the loss.,
But motherless she prefers to stay.
Jane sits before her mirror and
brushes back a wayward strand.
He used to love to brush her hair.
back when she still had her man.
She’d thought herself the luckiest girl-
She was his angel, heaven sent.
Photographs and memories
Now are all that she has left.
Gone two months, not even two,
Shrapnel killed her Marathon man.
He never reached the finish line
And now she’s living
John F. McCullagh's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Après Vous by John F. McCullagh )
Poem of the Day
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- A Drinking Song, William Butler Yeats
- Annabel Lee, Edgar Allan Poe
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Fire and Ice, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
- On the Ning Nang Nong, Spike Milligan
- A Dream Within A Dream, Edgar Allan Poe
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(8 August 1884 – 29 January 1933)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Udiah (witness to Yah)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)