Those lonely eyes,
Dark with pain,
Gaze steadily at the door.
Each sound,
Each footfall, brings intensity
To their innocent awaiting.
The sound dies in the imagination,
The footfalls move on
And fade away.
The expectant eyes
Drop in disappointment,
And with them drop, two large tears.
One dimpled hand
Wipes them away
From two chubby little cheeks.
A rosebud mouth quivers,
The eyes grow misty
And look away.
The trembling voice
Of a childish heart calls out in agony,
“Are you really dead, my father