Roots and Wings
In a cozy home where kind hearts dwell,
A mom and dad have a tale to tell.
Their sons have grown and gone their ways,
Led by life’s twists and turns and plays.
Mom and Dad don’t hold any grudges;
They know that life grows, shifts, and nudges.
Their boys were loved, now it’s time to soar,
To find new dreams and open new doors.
“Find joy, our sons, in the life you meet,
We hope each day is oh-so-sweet.
Remember the home where you learned to stand,
We’re here for you, with an open hand.”
The house feels big, the boys aren’t near,
But Mom and Dad still feel the cheer.
They understand that this is life,
Filled with love, and sometimes strife.
They look back on all the games and fun,
But know this new chapter has just begun.
They’re proud of their sons, no matter the miles,
And their faces still light up with smiles.
Their home’s still warm, their love doesn’t end,
They’ve got plenty more to give and lend.
A mom and a dad, with hearts so grand,
Keep their sons close, like grains of sand.
They hope and pray, like a star in the night,
That their boys are happy and everything’s right.
They’re like the roots of a big old tree,
And their love lasts long, just as it should be.
Echoes of Departure
In this quiet house where echoes mock,
An old man grumbles, eyes hard as rock.
His boys, once his, have long since fled,
Chased by life’s call, they’ve made their bed.
“Ungrateful,” he mutters, a scowl on his brow,
“They’ve left me alone to hold the plow.
I gave them life, they’ve given me dust,
Left me behind to deal with the rust.”
Life came like a thief, stole his joys,
Turned his pride, his sons, into wandering boys.
He shakes his fist at the empty rooms,
At life that’s led them to chase their dooms.
“Don’t come back,” he growls to walls that don’t care,
With a heart sealed shut, there’s nothing to share.
He remembers the noise, the mess, the fight,
Now all he’s got is the cold and the night.
The house is a tomb, the silence a blade,
His love’s turned to spite, his memories invade.
He’s angry at life, at the cards he’s been dealt,
At the sons who don’t visit, the loneliness felt.
“Fine, then go!” he says with a sneer,
Pretending it’s anger, not sadness or fear.
A bitter old man, with a heart turned to stone,
Sits in his echo, and ages alone.
He curses the days, the years that took flight,
The boys that he raised, now gone from sight.
He’s the roots of a tree, withered and dry,
Watching the leaves, his sons, just pass by.
So he holds onto his anger, like a shield in the night,
Against the pain of his loss, against life’s biting blight.
A bitter old man, in a home once so grand,
Holds onto his hurt, in a life gone bland.