For many years he'd traveled far, <br />a merchantman by trade. <br />His Mom passed on while he was gone- <br />she sleeps there in the glade. <br />Now he is home with tales to tell <br />of his trek on the Ocean Blue <br />but the one face he longed most to see <br />is not there to tell them to. <br />So he sat down on his duffel bag <br />beside her well tended grave, <br />and spoke his stories of the sea <br />when others might have prayed. <br />He left a white carnation there <br />upon her bed of clay. <br />It was well watered by the tears <br />he shed for her that day. <br />He said his last good byes to us <br />and turned back for the sea and the shore; <br />He'd search for peace on Neptune's deep <br />for Home wasn't home anymore.<br /><br />John F. McCullagh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-white-carnation/
