The Path - a poem

I walk down the path, 

together we laid, 

to look through the wide open door. 

There sits a girl, handball we played, 

and I love her all the more.

A woman is waiting – crying inside, 

but though I can’t see it,

she’s moving on, 

and the door not open as wide. 

I move even closer, 

and peek through the half open door. 

There is a young mum and son, 

who I can’t remember when I left, 

but now this house is his nest. 

As I reach to grab the handle: 

I just have to walk through that door, 

a big dark shape slams it shut, 

and I know I’m not wanted anymore.

[I wrote this simple poem in 2007 when I was in a bit of a mess. The photo below is of the little boy mentioned - just last week - wearing my glasses, the cheeky little monkey.]