My father went away when I was young
Often, my mum said it affected me
Departure from the archetypes of Jung
Is not something we're born to see.
And few can stand sunbeams all day unblind
Bathe too long rue heatstroke, blistered skin
Warm blooded creatures will seek shade at times
Take some refuge from the orb life giving.
I think of Whitesmiths who make jewels from rocks
Their work coveted by aspiring thieves
Armouring their shops with shutters and locks
The worries wrought on wrights of beauty.
Don't be afraid that they'll leave, let them go
Freed things loved, if loving, return you know.
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