I don't recall meeting my father

Except in a photograph;

I was barely four years old

In this family epitaph.

 

My mother, sisters and brother

Are stood and sat around,

While my father gazes at me

From a chair close to the ground.

 

Already gaunt and painfully thin,

I wonder about his fear

That TB would see that rictus grin

Gone within the year...

 

Leaving my mother alone

To cope as best she could

With three daughters almost grown,

The rest of us trying to be good.

 

Two girls were to marry young

And head for the USA,

Wartime romances blossoming,

Seeing them live far away.

 

My elder brother and I

Discovered disciplined careers

That saw us survive to pension age,

Well prepared for later years.

 

But occasionally my eye will fall

On that forties photograph...

A silent gathering of sadness

Its eternal epitaph.

........................................................