Song for Jesse

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From the dock to the cabin took seven minutes.
The little boy ran ahead,
his father following more slowly.

Somewhere along the way, 

he hung his jacket on a bush.

Good boy, Jesse, only seven years old.

When his dad got to the cabin, 
Jesse wasn't there.

Calling, searching, not finding. 

Alerting the neighbors, 

all searching and calling.

In a while, a shout came from the beach:

his father walked the worst 

hundred yards of his life.

Bloody jogging pants is all

the cougar left behind.

In the old theatre, two years later,
Jesse's friends sang a song for him,
in memory,
voices high and sweet,
their father's sobs
in counterpoint.

A sad song for Jesse,
only seven years old.

True story. This happened to a friend of mine, years ago. He lived in a cabin on an island across from Tofino.