Email Poem

Your IP Address: 216.73.216.89
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
For the daughter I love and miss.

There’s a change that’s like a season that I’ve noticed in the air
I couldn’t tell what niggled me but now I have to share,
I feel it in the morning when I rise to make the tea
And waiting for the kettle, set the cups for Mum and me.
Ollie’s wants his bucket, and Roddy’s fast asleep
But I don’t take down the “ducky cup”, the special one we keep.

It’s really at the week end in a moment of spare time
When I’m sipping on a cuppa that my heart begins to pine,
I might glance through the kitchen door and out towards the lawn
And I see amongst the imagery a big red heart shaped form,
And youngsters having cups of tea all wearing pretty clothes
High heeled and tripping ’cross the grass on their tippy toes.

I look back through the living room to the corner where
Her brother plinks the ivories of our old piano there,
He really makes an effort to knock his score into shape
And I think of the impression that her Chopin pieces make.
She’s off at school a playing in some piano cell maybe
So no pretty ballerina girls’ll pop by today for tea.

It’s warm, the sun is shining, and Spring’ll come ere long
The buds are sprouting on the trees and birds all sing a song,
But I see a flash of sunlight that would set her hair afire
She’s off at Hillsdale far away a singing in their choir.
And I have that changing feeling and I ponder on it long,
Well I guess I’m trying to say I really miss her while she’s gone.

Mother’s made the cornbread she serves with soup today
It tasted just delicious as usual I must say,
It didn’t have agave in it like she used to bake
’Specially without sugar, which our daughter did not take
I’d told myself I shouldn’t mind, I’d take it in my stride,
But thinking of it I admit I sort of ache inside.

I think about the way she hugs me, head against my chin,
And know it won’t be very long before she’s back again.
Till then no one rides her bike that’s pink and gathering dust
We seldom drive that old blue car that might be turning rust.
It sits beneath the ’simmon tree and there it will remain
Like all of us just waiting until she’s home again.



We drink tea in our house, and I am often the “Chai Wallah”, the one who makes the tea. I make sure every one gets their own special cup. But now that my daughter is away at university I get to thinking about her and miss her.

Now that you have got this far, leave a message and be a star!
Thank you
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required