Little Boy Blue Poem by Terry Collett

I received a letter
informing me
that you were dead,
had been dead
about eight years.

It was from a firm
seeking to help claim
any money due
from the deceased.

Hard to see you
as the deceased.
Not seen you
in over thirty years.

No emotion, no tears;
end of an era which included
childhood and the odd times
after when I sought you out.

I didn't expect much:
you were often in debt
when I was a child;
they'd be lucky to cover
their search fees.

But you were a father of sorts,
if not a great one,
and a lousy husband.

Now they wrote
and said you had died.

That little boy who knew
you back then is sad
in my head, but never cried.