Your appearance welcome, so glad at first,
thinking you’re visit something genuine I wait.
Hopeful for contact I’ve so missed, I could just burst
but you show your motive quickly, I am wrong, such is fate.
You want something, not me, but what I give,
needing something again, awaiting my positive reply.
Surprise cannot be feigned, this is the reality in which I live
disappointment in that truth pains me, does love even underlie?
You used to have hugs, happy conversation, joy,
reveling in your company, which always made me smile.
Changing so much as a teen, hidden from my sight that little boy
missing deeply the honest, teasing grin, before masked by such guile.
You may yet return to me, and prayers I pray for this,
Understanding perhaps independence isn’t lost through love.
Wistfully I will wait, hope offered against hope manhood will dismiss
Sulking, distant coldness from your heart, returning your joy as morning dove.
Karen Quinn 2013