hazy days by the lakeshore

Hey, friends!

Just flew home from our holiday in Ireland… and, boy, are my arms tired! 😊

Apologies for the bad dad joke. And it seems a smidge out of place in its levity given the heavy mood of this week’s poem.

A dream? A purgatory? A ghost story? A parable of letting go? I will leave it up to you to decide what it’s all about.

As a writer’s note (and sidebar), I did not want to lose the emotion of the poem in a overly-rhyming feel, so used enjambment to carry the sentences from one line to the other. It still rhymes quite traditionally, just doesn’t feel like a sad Hallmark card.

As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings about the poem in the Comments Section below. Enjoy (reader warning: you may want some tissues handy).

-PS Conway ☘ ☘ ☘

☘ ☘ ☘ ☘ ☘

hazy days by the lakeshore

lost inside a colorless dream,

our hazy days by the lakeshore

feel different now, it does not seem

quite real, this place we so adored,

like a faded photo, where two

chairs have turned to one, intended

for you to mourn alone, the blue

waves gray, reality suspended,

frozen within a memory,

and i, my love, must let it be,

let it fade soft and feathery

like the breeze from an angel’s wings


  1. At first I thought your wife had died and left you to mourn but then it switched to you dying and becoming an angel and touching your wife with a soft angelic breeze as she mourns. I like this shift midstream. Very sad though. 😔

  2. This poem touched me on so many levels!! We live right on Lake Superior and our son and 4 yr old granddaughter loved walking along our rocky beach, collecting stones to place in our garden, to paint, and to give to their favourite people. Our son was a senior PSW at a retirement residence which was always understaffed, he was also the Union rep for his workplace, and had been single for 3 1/2 yrs after his daughter’s mother left him, taking their daughter with her. He was one of the kindest, gentlest souls I’ve ever known, and was loved by all who knew him. He had already contracted work-related covid, and was suffering from burn out, PTSD and anxiety, but never told us…or anyone else. He kept it all inside, rather than worry anyone else…and no one knew he was suffering. This February…the day after Valentine’s… he took his own life. He was only 42. His 43rd birthday was 2 days after Mother’s Day, and after a simple small family gathering in this honour, I walked along our beach alone, ensuring I would be there right at 8:10 pm…the time of his birth…to tell him it was OK for him to leave us, that we we’d be fine…that he needed to transition into his next phase…go to his Heaven, receive his rewards for all the suffering he endured in his short life…because he so deserves his Happiness!! I waited until the Sun set, then walked back to our house feeling a sense of relief that I had given my firstborn son permission to let us go. I opened the front door, and there on the floor was a white fluffy feather..downy in appearance. My first thought was that Jonathan was telling me that he has transitioned into the Angel he always was…and the feather came from his new wings!! Thank you for letting me share my family’s story that your poem mirrored in my heart. I wish I could attach a photo of Jonathan’s feather…it is ethereal and beautiful…just like our Jonathan ❤️

    1. Wow, Grace. What a beautiful tribute to your son. He sounds like a wonderful person. Thank you for sharing it with us. I am so so so sorry for your loss… so tragic. I am honored that this poem affected you so deeply. Thank you. 🙏🏻🌹✨

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