I see you struggling

With your empty nest

And that need to quip,

Still, mother knows best

To no one in particular

Now that he’s flown

And grown.

I’m in the same frame

It’s the exact same scene.

Mine is out of the country,

Steers with his own steam

To no place in particular.

We’re left to stay afloat

With a lump in the throat

We’re crying at night

As lone mothers do,

But we taught them to fly,

Yes, straight and true

In that direction so particular

Toward the goal,

Prize for the soul.

We sang them to sleep,

Quoted nursery rhymes,

Crooned lullabies,

And begged more from Time;

No amount in particular,

Just enough years to hold,

To cuddle them, as we turn old.

They used pillows as ballast,

Trolled rough waters, secure.

They fought dragons, sea monsters,

Dreamed adventures, endured,

With no care in particular

As the days thinned

And nightlights dimmed.

Time paid us no favors.

The clouded sky cleared;

As we strengthened the sails

A young man then appeared

On one day in particular

Standing so tall and fierce

And our hearts were pierced.

Captain of destiny,

He mans his own ship

We are left by the shore

Gently set adrift,

No cause in particular,

Just the reason,

The leaving season.

Waves of loss nudge my heart,

I grieve child turned adult,

Though a happy outcome.

Yes, he’s just as we hoped,

No flaws in particular,

Only a fray here and there,

Runs his fingers through his hair.

He is never so far

That his face I can’t see

Beaming man of mine,

Old and young, and free,

With no end in particular-

Shiny toys

To shared joys,

With youth and child in memory,

The nest’s not truly empty.

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By JB Morris- Poems, Prose, and Possibilities- mostly about life, sometimes about God, with brief interludes concerning shoe addiction.