Treasure Island

Howard Chapman

Worth More Than Sparrows

My first memory is of my mother

her blue print dress close-up

the smell of face powder

and her hair in full bloom

Now a few sad last grey hairs

lie beneath a woollen bonnet

as she grieves for the lion’s mane

her youth and vitality all but gone

Joanna inexplicably ravaged by cancer

being consumed by death

falling out of the sky

in a slow motion plummet from life

Now Sharon is in my dreams

a small sparrow carcass in the hedgerow

almost disappeared

delicate bones with just a wisp of skin and feather

I light a candle in a Normandy church

and all three are vivid in the flames

as is he who sees every sparrow fall

and counts every hair

Submitted: Thursday, July 30, 2009
Edited: Thursday, December 24, 2009

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