Many years it had been since Sir Heathcliffe was home,
He had travelled in countries abroad;
He left in his grief at the death of his wife
While he wrestled with sorrow and God.
He had been round the world, and his troubles had too,
And the thought of his daughter was one:
He dreamed yesternight of her eyes greyish-blue,
And he cried, "Heavens, what have I done?!"
Thus it was that he stood at his very own gate,
Yet unknown to his daughter within;
And he prayed, "Lord, I hope that I've not come too late!
That she lived while away I have been."
First she opened the door and she bobbed down the stairs,
Then she skipped with a smile down the walk,
No thought all the while of her father's shocked stares
Till she stopped with her hand on the lock;
Then she covered her lips and she whispered, "Oh, my!
You're the man on the mantel for sure!
I've asked for ten years, but without a reply
Who the man and the pretty girl were."
And he said, "I'm your father who's been gone so long,
And that angel, your mother who died:
Forgive me for leaving, I realise 'twas wrong;"
And he could not go on, but he cried.
For he looked right into eyes of pale greyish-blue,
And he felt the same rush of surprise
As when years, years ago, with a pair that he knew,
"There's an angel," he said, "in your eyes."
Then she opened the gate, and they fondly embraced
In a place where a young couple kissed;
It was then all the pain of the years was erased,
And the guilt of the life he had missed.
"One angel," said he, "went away from my eyes,
But the other, I left of my own;
Till the day that I go to my bride in the skies
You will never again be alone."
~Written by Isaiah Zerbst on October 11th, 2013~