The Path Poem by Ian Keenan

Mixed with leaves and woody detritus
The path leads, as ever,
Through the memories and yells of
Kids.

The Scout Hut, greenly bedraggled,
Outside
The remnants of last week’s
Fires,
And in their kits my boys,
Ghosts earning still their
Stars.

Passing the bark and dead buds
I see them past,
Building dens of twigs and twisted
Boughs,
Laughing and running
Into my mind’s distance.

Approaching home I know I shouldn’t,
But how to stop my heart,
The pain always in the delight,
The price of age and fatherhood.