Dear Reader,
Those of you who read this column regularly may have noticed my enduring interest in poetry. Today I would like to share a poem that few have seen. It was written by William McHale, my grandfather, and appeared many years ago in the Chilton Times-Journal, which he published in the 30s and 40s.
The poem is heartfelt and sad, dealing with the death of his son in early childhood. This brings to mind the oft repeated maxim that parents should never have to bury their children. Over the years the poem has meant a great deal to everyone in our family, helping my siblings and cousins to remember the uncle that we lost without ever knowing him.
PATRICK J. WOOD
Publisher
For Michael
Had I But Known
Had I but known he did not come to stay,
That he was just a transient little guest
By heaven sent and thither shortly bound
How avidly his smallest small request
I should have heard, and its appeasement found.
If I had known he entered at my gate
Only to pause on his far homeward flight –
Sweet soul ordained to bear no taint of earth –
How I had schemed to make the hours more bright
And shield his dimpled hands from every hurt.
But I knew not. There are tomorrows yet,
I thought, to mend the playthings wrecked today.
Then, lo, a muffling silence stilled the noise
Of clamorous mirth, for he had gone his way
And left my heart like his poor broken toys.
William McHale