Sing the herons to sleep

Follow me,
to the edge of the meadow.
See the moon make ghosts
of the silver birch.

Stand in the copse
and watch me sing the herons
to sleep,
keep pace with the stars in the
slowly blueing black.

Listen for me measuring the lake,
count my light steps,
hear joy in my voice calling out the
yards.
Then watch as I leave
but do not follow,
my journey is no road of yours.

Watch my back,
shoulders square again,
feet light this last time,
no palsy or shaking
as I walk into the dawn.
Shedding years until I am gone.

Watch me go, see my son
that I do not looked back.
Not even to say goobye.

That we have already done

-Dave Kavanagh

4 thoughts on “Sing the herons to sleep

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