Stephen Embleton

 Missing To Mom 23–12–2002 As a father I’ve come to know That kids are precious things. And although we want to watch them grow To see what life them brings, We cannot always be there to see, To share and to protect. So God gave us that special gift That now ‘n again we collect. He calls it something just off target When you try to give a clout. It’s something dainty like a teacher But one that doesn’t shout. He calls it “Miss” ‘cause you thought of something That seeing would make a “Hit”, So when you think of something dear, That feeling sinks in a bit. Missing someone lets you know There’s someone that you love. Someone who you want to share Each moment sent from above. But all you can do is miss them more And tell them when you do. ‘Cause how precious is that love together When someone misses you. So onward up this mountain-side each and every day I climb in a body that you gave to me to feel how I miss you all the time.

Mothers To Mom 11–05–2002 Mothers are mothers for more than one reason, Mothers are mothers for more than one season. A season of laughter, a lifetime of love. All our moments together are sent from above.  Mothers are special and, in our lives, have a place. We remember their voice and their touch on our face. Soft and tender and loving and dear, They speak to us in words that make life so clear. No matter how wise and old we may get, They remind us of the child inside that we forget.  In our hearts they remain forever and always For they touch our lives in so many ways. One day a bird in a film said to me, “Stephen, ‘Mother’ is the word for God on the lips and hearts of all children”.

All Along The Beaches 02-04-2002 On the sand a young man sits But blink and he is old. For one day when you read these words Your story too is told. And so he sits and ponders so, The things before his eyes: The sea, the sky, the clouds and air All things he’s to surmise. The golden glow of the sun at dawn Dives deeply in his eyes. A gull in silhouette he sees That close to the water flies. And there he sits, hands and heels dug in Waiting for the tide. The moon has told him it will come And on it he must ride. And as a wave does rise and fall The foam his skin does seek. He silently turns, to look behind, To take just one last peek. Toes go cold, his chest breathes in, He recognises faces. All those from his life are there. All from familiar places. Too far away on the land they play, Out in the farthest reaches. But then they smile and wave to him From… all along the beaches.