My blue book

 

A girl kneeling by her bed.

Hands folded,

bowed head.

The bright blue cover,

the slim volume. 

The simple picture, 

forever engraved on my soul.

Oft have I thought of my book.

Those gilded days of

pigtails and satin bows,

lace stockings and

red checked tunics.

Hanging onto Daddy's words,

hours spent at our

cardboard dollhouse. 

Make believe world

slipped through the fingers.

Ladylike steps

marched to the times. 

The heat set in

and the varnish began to drip.

See sawing through life 

never did I lose sight 

of that little terrace 

of happy feet

under the blue sky.

In waves it came back to me,

in undetermined moments,

a gush of joy untold.

That bright blue book

with the little girl,

hardly a little

older than me.

The pages that I turned ,

and pictures leaped out - 

colourful images of happy families.

Angelic faces, smiling eyes...

I recited every line,

umpteen times, 

dot on time.

Every word,

every stanza

engraved itself inside me.

My dearest belonging,

cherished through childhood,

gifted to me by my father. 

A big blue prayer book,

with morning prayers,

prayers for Grace, 

good night prayers,

and for every special day.

My growing up compendium,

my joy and hope.

Never were we apart 

through those

formative years.

Its memory never fades.

The hunt is always on,

somewhere at the back of my mind.

I sift through the cobwebs 

and search my mind 

for where it got left behind.

The blue prayer book,

Dad's gift to his little child. 

Little did he know what

a giant prize it was.

But a nagging faith

just refuses to go.

My blue prayer book is waiting

somewhere for me.

For that day when

we'll meet again. 

Soulmates,

searching for

each other. 

That little girl 

on the cover

kneeling by her bed 

in prayer. 

And me, just like her every day,

all spick and span

and ready for bed.

Kneeling to pray.

Like my friend.

My blue prayer book,

I have not forgotten thee.

We'll come across again,

surely, on a

bright new day.