An Unexpected Journey

I was only eight when we left home,
A land of green fields and blue skies;
I watched the animals run and roam,
As we sent Ireland our last goodbyes.

My mother took me quickly by my hand,
While my father took our luggage and bags;
We rushed to the train, so astounding and grand,
And watched the people wave farewell with their flags.

The journey was long, tiring and bittersweet,
Filled with clamour and noise and childrenís cries;
We received very little to drink or eat,
And arrived worn out at our destination by sunrise.

The winter was cold and I shivered from the frosty breeze,
People pushed and shoved as they rushed to and fro;
My mother seemed different and quite not at ease,
And my father seemed as far away as an echo.

One night I just couldnít close my eyes to sleep,
I opened the door and crept across the hall;
I thought that I heard someone softly weep,
As I opened the door on the opposite wall.

I found my father sitting calmly on my motherís bedside,
The expression on his face filled with sadness and fear of death;
A tear rolled down his cheek; gleaming in the moonlight from outside,
As he watched my mother take in her last breath.
:: Margaret A
Toronto, ON, Canada

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