We siblings, five of us, lost our father recently after a twelve month bout of failing health. He was eighty-nine years old (he would have made ninety in January 2012). His was an interesting life full of travel and strange tales.
One of his achievements, which, of course, is shared by our mother, is sixty-five years of happy marriage. They individually admitted to me on separate occasions that each was the other's best friend. With that wonderful admission in mind, I penned the following poem in honour of them. I hope you enjoy it as much Mum has.
BEST MATES
Hand in hand, conjoining fates,
Eight hundred plus new moons ago.
In Singapore, so far from home,
Through wartime's lonely afterglow,
Those two became best mates.
On board a ship with other folk
Who shared the Antipodean dream,
They sailed halfway around our world
To build their life that we would share,
With strength from being best mates.
As time went by we flew the nest,
Our fledgling lives to each pursue.
We left them on their own once more
To watch us grow our own sweet dreams,
And still they stayed best mates.
The creaking wheel of Life has turned
And driven Death's quiet wedge between
The players of this play of ours,
To take away the breath from one
And sunder these best mates.
But realize this all ye who read
That even if you don't believe
In mystic things and any god,
That Love's immortal life is real,
They'll always be best mates.
(c) Kim Randell 2011
