When I was small,  
your hand held mine,  
in a father’s grip,  
both firm and kind.  
I’d look up in awe
at your towering frame,  
your proud stance unwavering.
I'd like to think that I was a good girl
who obeyed the rules,
because your voice was profound,  
grounding my feet
onto the solid ground.

Through my childhood,  
long HGV trips were the norm,  
and I listened for the latch  
on the garden gate,
as I waited patiently  
for your return.  
I remember how you were
so regimented and set in your ways,  
but your love shone through  
in those distant days.  
I felt relief as years passed,
your strict edges softened,  
into acceptance at last.

Now time’s cogs have turned,  
our roles have reversed,
and life writes for us  
in a different verse.  
Once you strode  
with a confident pace,  
but a Zimmer frame  
now takes that place.  
Your hands, once strong,  
are fragile and sore,  
stiffened by time,  
yet still they endure.

I see the warrior’s spirit  
that still burns inside you,  
as cancer battles loom,  
you strive to push through.  
Where once you led  
with a mighty stride,  
it is now my turn  
to care and guide.  
My strength is yours  
as we walk a little slower these days
with me still by your side.

©️Lizzie Bevis