My Father                                                                      

Poet, you need

climb no mountains,

cross no oceans

But yet you walk

on untrodden ground; 

Your message strikes

across an abyss

of most many a year

Finds its way

past the labyrinths

of the changing mind:

Be not disturbed

that your name

finds no mention,

Your place is assuredly

one of finest creation.

Dwelling not on,

the cruellest blows,

struck by time;

Yours is to tell

 of the finest hours;

Spent living as life,

most fully can be lived;

You lived, you loved,

you too found;

Others before you

who walked the

untrodden ways;

Their tomorrows,

Now, are our todays

You have well

your footprints trod,

No others diverted you

from the chosen path,

You who called yourself

most reserved;

Forget not;

for all of time,

the future Mays -

Will awaken

in some long hidden heart

That which we poets

most loathe would part.

                                                   Charles Loft.

In Memory of C.A.H Loft