Not Too Late And Yet... Poem by Diana van den Berg

From the hallowed mists of whispering time
and across an ocean of yesteryears
and from childhood rememberings and tales
and years of my off and on wondering
they emerged –
like butterflies each from a chrysalis,
like snowdrops from the snow,
four cousins,
each valued in their own individual way
in photographs and emails
and catchings-up,
and one of whom
has become the sister
I didn’t know I wanted
until now.

And a gut-scraping ache
that I was
too late
too late
to be
for their father,
my uncle,
his hungry bond with our
beloved and adored
sunny, wild, wild Africa.