Sunday, October 22, 2006


Rain like rifle fire,
flattening the grass;
ricochets from roof tiles
in a hiss of spray.

Barefoot on wet ground,
both in pyjamas,
I held him in my arms.
We spun the umbrella in our hands,
watching the rim shed spiral streams of molten silver in the air.

"Daddy, it looks like a sunflower"
he said.

So in the rain, under the deep impenetrable grey of cloud,
on a day of unseasonable cold;
we stood in pyjamas,
making sunflowers with only imagination for the sun.

It surprises me how long such
flowers last,
Scenting the memories for many years.

Let me too,
child in my father's broad embrace,
sow gardens of beauty
From seeds of faith and imagination;
even when the sun seems far away.

(c) A Mc N


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