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Of a son

You were one of four

I wouldn’t want more.

This was joy sublime.

Never in my time

Had I thought of you.

Not until you grew

Then I realised

Became mesmerised.

This little chap who

Had landed brand new.

Turned my life around;

Shook the very ground

Beneath the complacent,

Once independent.



A better father

Were I to be there

I think I’d never find.

Generous and kind,

Maybe to a fault

But real ale and malt

Whisky chasing dram

Reveals the true Sam

Which life’s troubles hide.

And instead confide

The troubled man who

Wasn’t the boy I knew.

This handsome charming

Fellow could bring

Joy to any life

(Except his first wife).

Here deep waters un-

touched by brooding sun

Cannot hide the work

He feigns to shirk.

Such is decency.


And pomposity

Berate him daily.

Still he manages

And disparages

Those who cannot see

Hidden dignity.

Yes, you would escape

To fresh fields – the grape!

And find in Hungary

A new family.

Here this English field

In green shadows stealed

The white clad players

Through lazy summers.

A quiet spoken guy

None harder would try.

“My name is Samuel,

I ravish the duel.”

But the friend I know

Would in faith bestow

A kind heart and soul

In every part whole

For someone in need.

Any race or creed

Matters not at all

Straight is bat on ball.

Candidly I may

Feel impelled to say

With hand on my heart

In discussing art

He is a writer

Few I think better

Though he must believe

Himself to achieve.

All that’s possible

But there’s the trouble

Confounding demands

On debated grounds

Set the world askance

And can’t help but chance

To distract the chap

From destiny’s map

But he will proceed

And at last succeed.

© RM Meyer

February 2019