This poem was inspired by one of the Dear Angus Letters written by Sprite**. In the letter Murdoch tells his brother Angus that with the return of his boys he had rediscovered the parental indulgence of watching his children sleep. The line just stuck in my mind as one of those heart moments that warms you every time you think about it. It made me wonder what would Murdoch think as he sat there. This poem is an attempt to delve into Murdoch's private ponderings.
In a white hacienda, lies a father wide awake,
Leaving his bed, another night trip he'll make.
The long shadow creeps quietly down the hall,
Cast by the visage of a man that is taller than tall.
Stopping and contemplating, he stands by the door,
Gazing into the room lit by moonbeams on the floor.
He smiles at the rediscovery of a guilty pleasure,
Watching his baby boy sleep, his youngest treasure.
No longer a small chubby toddler with cherubic face,
Lost years returned a handsome young man in his place.
Stealthily crossing the room to a chair and taking a seat,
His mind wanders endlessly with thoughts that are deep.
His heart weeps for the lost years that were unkind,
If only it were within his power to make time unwind.
He would change the outcome of that terrible night,
When the woman he loved took his child from his sight.
He hated and regretted her chosen path was so rough,
Forcing his innocent son into a life dangerous and tough.
A sweet gentle loving soul would learn to live by his gun,
Putting on the mask of Johnny Madrid to get the job done.
In the silence of night, he watches his son sleep,
He prays to the Lord for his son safely to keep.
Slowly rising he whispers a heart felt plea,
I love you, my son- stay- please don't flee.
In the white hacienda nestled at the bottom of the hill,
Lives a gray haired Scotsman that loves his son still.