You Visit Me Now and Then

You visit me now and then.
A similar smile or glance or gate —
It can be anything, at any time, simply fate;
And there you are, once again.

What bound us together,
It held us in its grip,
Where is it now, once so strong, once forever?
Like a memory of a foreign land,
Just a passing dream turned to sand.

I went back to our home,
And there were strangers living there.
They took no notice of my stare.
How could they know?
Why would they care?

They gave me pause.
They made me wonder,
Is theirs to be only a dream
In time’s endless stream?

Only a dream.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

 

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Vanish

Generations come and go —
The only permanence the flow.

Little waves lap upon the shore;
They thrive a moment and are no more.

Your time on earth a blink —
Even your memory long extinct.

So how to live the issue
When life itself mere tissue?

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

My Story

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Fair Play

‘Tis fair play, I say —
So don’t worry yourself none.
Death don’t descriminate, I tell ya;
All’s welcome.
Never ya mind then,
For Father Time, he sees to it —
Keeps for all and sundry
A certain ‘pointment.
Nope, no reservations needed;
He’ll call ya when it’s time.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

 

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Little White Butterfly

Psst, between you and me,
I pretend the little white butterfly,
It’s really you!

Flutters about me in a protective way,
With the lightest of touch.

I know what it’s trying to say:
I love you still – forever — very much.

I know you cannot hear me true,
But I do too – you — oh so much.

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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Why Do the Leaves Linger On?

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Why do the leaves linger on,
Braving the wind — winter’s song?

Tenacious, they cling to the branch,
Desperate that age will not advance.

The rest, long since fallen to their grave,
While these remain, dogged and brave.

But the cloak of night draws ’round,
And the leaves shiver at every sound.

So why do the leaves linger on,
Braving the wind — winter’s song?

Hope — hope to see another spring dawn,
Hope to gaze upon a new-born fawn.

All Poetry – Henry Barnard

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Mere Footprints

Footprints in snow –
Those who have gone before me.
Now my footprints –
For those who come after.

Generation after generation,
Footprints in snow…
Mere footprints.

But, with time’s melting,
Even this memory erased,
Generation after generation.

So to what end…
These footprints?

All Poetry — Henry Barnard

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