Kierkegaard
Thirty years till she attains the age of mom, now dead;
At eighteen years, her mom now gone – and numbness fogs her head;
“So fast she went, with hardly time to bid our fond goodbyes;
Mom hung on till my birthday, ‘See eighteenth, then I can die’ ”As we went back to cars from there, I looked across the grass;
She paused and over shoulder gave a wistful look – this lass;
It wrenched my heart – such mystery and sadness in the scene,
As she faced life with father gone, now gap where mom had been.The teenage years are times for stepping out to face our lives –
Negotiating adult life – then suddenly she dies.
“I wanted to grow close to you as adult and as friend,
Now suddenly that chance is gone with this untimely end.“I wanted you to hold my child, take pleasure in its life;
To talk with you and walk with you through pleasantness and strife;
I wanted to grow old with you, see separation time
Matured through mellow years of life in thirty years of mine.“But now I face this world alone, just wishing you were here;
The loneliness that aches my soul too much as I leave here.
What is this life, with birth and death, where we are whirled about,
Where we cannot turn back the clock, or choose a different route?”“The meaning of a story comes at end, on looking back”
So said the sage of yesteryear, along with second fact –
“But we must live our stories out from first up to the end;
Our stories work because they're done, thus meaning they can send.”“As I return to life, this chapter finished in my book,
Before I write some more I pause to cast this second look;
The richness of this chapter done – though meaning still not clear –
It flavours who your daughter is, as we depart from here.”navigation