Dad and Mum, my darlings: A poem 

I know memories are like sand in my hand 

a wistful cheer, a river fleeing the land 

The present is a disloyal moment, steadfast is the past 

Childhood is a brief world with an expanse vast 

Love is a warm, cosy, infinitely endearing blanket 

It can make a treasure trove of a poor man’s trinket 

Home is a reservoir with the sluices all wide open 

Lessons are in examples and gestures, not in the preaching 

Fresh food from the market every day, flowers weekends 

The means were not measured, so were the dividends 

Time steals a cheer, the world becomes an empty pocket 

Even with the Pandorra box, inherited strength is in the locket 

So, the winter can’t be cold, when a fire warms the hearth 

Experience is wisdom, but ideals take root from the start 

When falsehoods rule, the pure child will still play his drum 

at the altar of honour, the legacies of dear Dad and Mum