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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365779" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Lost August</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘No, it’s not that I want to be awkward’, <br>He began, as he stifled a sigh, <br>‘Though I don’t understand your intentions, <br>And I’m not even going to try, <br>I will bow to your final decision <br>In this, as in all we have done, <br>Only, please try to show me some kindness <br>As the man you once loved for your own.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She looked from the living room window<br>Her arms tightly crossed at the breast, <br>Her back was so sternly toward him<br>That he feared for the worst, (and the best) , <br>‘There once was a time, ’ then she halted, <br>Some things were left better unsaid, <br>Then she sighed, ‘Well, it’s just for one Christmas...<br>Then she snarled, ‘But I wish you were dead.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he smiled, as she turned back to face him <br>In that wistful expression of old, <br>Where his mouth turned the corners up lightly <br>But his eyes cried their hurt in the cold. <br>‘Yes, it’s only for Christmas I’m asking <br>With our children again at the last, <br>I’ll be gone with the wind in the morning, <br>Just a memory drift in your past.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then he felt that he should have said something<br>So he muttered I’m sorry… and that’, <br>And he turned down his gaze to the carpet, <br>And he felt for his old, beaten hat.<br>‘Don’t go... would you care for a coffee...’<br>She haltingly started to say, <br>As he fumbled his hat in confusion<br>To nod his familiar way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘If you’d rather I went, ’ 	he said quickly, <br>‘I know this is painful for you....’<br>‘Don't be soft, ’ said his wife from the kitchen, <br>‘It’s long since I felt owt for you...’<br>‘If you’d only been more of a husband, <br>Or more of a father to them...<br>‘Yes, I know, ’ and he painfully nodded, <br>And stared at the carpet again.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘Well, you’ll sleep on the floor, in the study, <br>And I don't want you wandering round, <br>I’ve a man, as you know, that I sleep with, <br>And I won’t have him feeling put down.’<br>Then the hurt of his glance must have touched her, <br>‘Well, I’m sorry, but that’s how it is, <br>Either sleep in the study…’ he nodded, <br>And accepted with grace his defeat.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘As a matter of interest’, she started, <br>As she carried the tray through the door, <br>‘Where on earth did you go... back in August<br>(He just smiled at some point on the floor) .<br>‘Was it some fancy woman you wanted<br>While I spent the nights sitting alone, <br>Spent the days in a panic, and staring<br>In the hopes that you’d write, or you’d phone? ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘I’m sorry, ’ he muttered, ‘I’m sorry, <br>I know it was terribly wrong... <br>As he sat huddled up in the corner, <br>(And he’d once been so straight and so strong) , <br>So strong and so young and romantic, <br>So faithful as well... she appeared <br>Once again in the line of his vision <br>With the slightest veiled hint of a sneer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">‘I’ll be off then, I’ll see you on Sunday, ’ <br>Then he rushed through the door and was gone <br>And the tears welled again at her eyelids <br>As she felt so adrift and alone. <br>‘What is done has been done and forgotten, <br>I’m soft for the beggar, I know.’ <br>Then the children rushed in at the doorway... <br>‘Was that Daddy we saw up the road? ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the night before Christmas, a shadow <br>Slid wearily up to the door, <br>And the head was both bowed and defeated, <br>And the coat was both ragged and torn, <br>But she hid the distaste as she took it <br>And noticed how aged he’d become, <br>As he went to the study in silence, <br>And she went to her bed with her man.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He emerged at the break of the dawning <br>Midst the cries of delight at the tree, <br>And he basked in their love and attention <br>As he balanced them both on his knee. <br>But his wife was a trifle distracted <br>For her man wouldn't come, at the last, <br>‘I’ll be gone with the wind...’ he repeated, <br>‘Just a memory drift in your past.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he’d gone as he’d promised, when morning <br>Saw all the festivities done, <br>With the love and regrets of his children <br>And a last, loving kiss for his son... <br>‘Yes it’s only for Christmas I’m asking <br>With our children again at the last, ’ <br>He was gone with the wind in the morning, <br>Just a memory drift in her past.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the New Year was carelessly breaking <br>And the memories slipping away <br>When the police brought the news in the morning <br>That he’d died on the previous day.<br>‘Do you mean that he’d kept it a secret, <br>I’ll be damned, ’ said the Sergeant again, <br>‘He knew he was riddled with cancer, <br>What a man, what a man among men! ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So she cried… but it wasn’t in anger, <br>Just the soft, helpless cry of defeat...<br>Did he think it would be any better, <br>Did he think he could temper her grief? <br>‘As a matter of interest, ’ she’d started <br>As she’d carried the tray through the door, <br>‘Where on earth did you go back in August... <br>He’d just smiled at a point on the floor.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now whenever she passes her lover<br>They both turn their faces away, <br>He went back to his job in munitions<br>And his wife, it was better that way...<br>If he’d only been more of a husband, <br>Or more of a father, she’d said, <br>And she’d sighed, ‘Well it’s just for one Christmas...<br>And she’d snarled, ‘But I wish you were dead! ’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And he’d smiled as she’d turned back to face him<br>In that wistful expression of old, <br>Where his mouth turned the corners up lightly<br>But his eyes cried their hurt in the cold.<br>‘Yes, it’s only for Christmas I’m asking<br>With our children again, at the last, <br>I’ll be gone with the wind in the morning, <br>Just a memory drift in your past.’</div><div style="margin:10px 0">21 September 1974</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=David+Lewis+Paget">David Lewis Paget</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=365779" data-title="Lost August de David Lewis Paget" data-description="‘No, it’s not that I want to be awkward’, 
He began, as he stifled a sigh, 
‘Though I don’t understand your intentions, 
And I’m not even going to try, 
I will bow to your final decision 
In this, as in all we have done, 
Only, please ..."></div>
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