Fairy story

There’s a dull ache in my heart at times
when switched on to father mode
on looking back at what I’ve been,
and what I’ve done and what I’ve said.

*

There was a fragrant softness in the air
'midst the surrounding lovely trees,
the coolness of the greenery
and the gentle summer breeze.

*

‘Let’s tidy it and with some flowers make it nice.
There, isn’t that a lovely fairies holiday house.
Wash now ‘til it sparkles the fairies small milk bottle,
leave a note inside for fairy milkman to find tonight.

*
Quietly we’ll leave it there outside their wee front door.

Three small smiling daughters
then gently slipped away,
snuggled down in cabin bunks
to stories read aloud.

*

Each day of our holidays was the little game played out
‘He’s been. There’s a note, quick let’s see what he wrote.’
Small excited voices read it several times with much delight,
Content that fairy milkman had called again last night.

*

That’s how it was by the lake side, with smiles, sometimes with tears,
summer holidays came and went during young and tender years.
It was my wife who cleverly chose that special secret mound
where a family of fairies dwelt when our holidays came round.

*
We’d left the harsh realities of our cold world just for a while,
enjoyed being with our children in magic story times.

How cruel I was, I’ve often thought, why did I have to say
what I said to my eldest daughter on that sad and awful day?

*
I’d thought quite long, thought it best that she should know,
concerned she’d one day hear the truth about fairy story times.

Something quite lovely and innocent withered before my gaze,
with tear-filled eyes she looked at me, she found it hard to speak
whispering with such sadness: ‘Oh Dad, not real, no fairies after all?’

*

So there it is, I’ve told my tale and sad I am at that,
in this wonderful world of ours we must grow up and face the facts.
Make-believe and fairies have their place just for a while…
but does growing up have to mean we must leave all of that behind?

*

Dennis Crompton © 2012

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

Opportunity, missed...

I walked today along the lane

where once I met my estranged father.

What had come between us…?

oh, a trifling thing of nought,

creating doubt, anger and separation,

and neither he nor I

could meet each other’s eye.

*

So, we passed by, both heaving

sad and sorrowful sighs…

back then.

*

Oft since I’ve longed to walk that lane

and meet again my lonely aged father.

Nothing would come between us…

I’ll give my oath on that.

*

Alas! Too late! We had our chance,

though lane recalled that sad, sad passing,

time and the grave have done their sealing work.

*

Gone that unhappy and despondent figure,

forever gone the time

to make amends.

*

Dennis Crompton © 1995

(first published www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

 

In March 1954, I wrote a letter to my father saying that I’d joined the Royal New Zealand Air Force and would leave England in a few week’s time. We did meet and we made our peace. We wrote many letters to each other before he died a few years later.