Paddy Poem by Res John Burman

(That's short for Patricia, not one of my Irish friends)

Our parting tears
Yours, and mine
I gathered in
A blue paisley
Handkerchief.
I rolled it tightly
And sewed it shut
Tight, neat, little,
Stitches.
And tried to forget.

I joined the Army
To forget.
Because I couldn’t
Speak French.
And a daily ration
Of rough sour wine
Didn’t interest me.
But climbing mountains,
Did. Canoeing
Rivers did!

Years later,
Mountains and
Valleys later.
Loves later,
Service and wounds later.
Captivities and Freedoms later,
Sacrifice and rebirths later,
I found the handkerchief,
And that little wooden mouse
In my folks attic,
Among other dusty traces
Of vanished youth.

I cut the stitches,
And unrolled the handkerchief.
The tears were
No longer there.
Now forty nine years
Later. The pain
Has gone. Even
The longing.

But perhaps
Like a faded spot
On an old handkerchief,
There is a trace,
Just a shadow,
Of regret,
At what we missed,
At what we might have been.
Fare thee well!

(13th March 2008)