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Wayne E Evans

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Member Since: Apr, 2006

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A Patient Seamstress
by Wayne E Evans

Monday, May 22, 2006
Rated "PG13" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Wayne E Evans
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A Patient Seamstress

The comely lass looks at my son with a devilish smile

Lovely, so lovely, all eyes in the mall are on her

Yet she looks only at him; “Hello there”

“And hello to you he replies with a mischievious glance

“Such a pleasure to watch you grow up” I admire him as we walk

“Such a pleasure to grow up Dad” he says, grinning from ear to ear

Such cleverness, confidence, how did this come to be

At his age, so shy, I would have shaken the buckles off my boots

Sixteen years ago this peaceful loving boy left so suddenly

Sixteen years young, so young, too young, too soon

My firstborn, my only son; grief comes to visit

But now not quite so often, grief can be kind that way

I tell this story often, and another; about “the” tennis match

Tie breaker after tiebreaker so endless it seemed

The boy who hit the ball 1,000 miles an hour

The boy who could not be coached

The phone rang, “I won!” he yelled
I heard the smiles, the joy in his voice, in his laughter

“Who said I couldn’t be coached?” he ribs me and chuckles

“And I’d have won Wimbledon, if I had listened Dad”

Little did he know that he had done just that

I see him holding the trophy, high in the air, and the crowd cheers

As I cheered when he told me how he won, the tiebreakers

I play with this same old racquet, his racquet, my son is with me

I ride his old bicycle and keep his heart near

Hold his artwork; pick it up again and again

I am so proud of my son, he is still my son

I am still his father, He is STILL, my son

Field of Dreams tell Ben and I how lucky we are

No old baggage, nothing unfinished
Nothing to mend except my heart

Grief is a patient seamstress

Wayne Earl Evans

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