Postcard

A postcard lays on my table.
Images have spilled from every syllable.
Images I can only dream of,
A hazy dream of adventure and fun.
"Don't worry mum! Thailand's amazing!
The blue sky looks like it belongs."
Trying to find the right blue for the sky.
Whimsical reasons but did she need any other?
Don't worry. How twisted is that?
"Don't worry mum! Norway's beautiful!
The lakes reflect beauty! They are beauty!"
The things she has seen, so young and naive.
Is it ok to be jealous of my own child?
Of course not, anyone would.
I wonder if she'll ever come home.
"Don't worry mum! New York's quite safe.
The skyline at sunset is enchanting."
New York at night, Tokyo drifting, Venetian balls.
All this she's seen, felt and lived.
Welsh mountains, cold sunsets and Tescos.
All I've ever seen, felt and lived.
"Don't worry mum. He'll treat me well.
Now, I'm coming home,"
The last thought is always of home.
The last thought is always nostalgic.
I guess I don't have to worry no more.