The rain hit the ground like the day my mother died
My father, his stoic self, told me not to cry
A job must be done, so he said. No tears allowed
So we set about to bury my mum
While outside the rain hit the ground like beating sticks
And I looked across to see my dad
His shoulders slumped, demeanour gone to bits.
This was not the Dad I knew
Stern, strict and limited in view
Unmoved by pleading words
‘Pragmatic’ would be the word upon his sleeve
Hard-headed he was, but never, ever, forgot the word ‘connect’
His disciplined soul was now in tears.
I had to learn a new kind of respect.
The words ‘I love you’ could never pass his lips
Put a gun to his head and demand he used these words
‘I love you, I love you’
He would reply in no uncertain terms
‘That’s too hard, so shoot me if you wish.’
Dear mum never heard these words. Nor did I.
But love he certainly had
For when the words failed to come,
Actions he had; actions full of love.
Unbreakable and well clad
So we buried me mum down deep.
Down deep ‘cos Dad wanted to go on top.
Not right then of course, but later
When he joined the love of his life.
Jessie was her name: his wife.
