for Dad

The wind blew a falling
leaf against my cheek.

And I called your name.

And you laughed.

Autumn at Symonds Yat:

Our final hour.

And the river wound bleaky

through the rocks you loved.

And you tried to tell me

you would leave.

Cold. 

So cold.

Yet somehow now,

my heart knows Peace.

For this year, in the sunshine,

the leaves are just as bright