He lay and stared, the ceiling shone in sun.
The carpet cushioned back, and held him soft.
Head spinning, drifting off he tried to run
to treasured past, tried not to count the cost.
Above, the leaves cast shadows dancing wild,
breeze turning, tossing, catching trees at play;
his mind's eye clearly seeing nature's child,
his son, his only one stolen away.
The golden light bathed him in warmth, sleep came
and with it comfort, contact, love and peace;
his dream made child and father one again,
together racing through the wind with ease.
He could not wake, his life was here - once more
father and son would be, and cry no more.
© Mary Parker 2015