Heart skipping a beat, bursting with joy.
For he sees the cracks in the boy cocoon
And knows a man will be emerging soon.
“My Son” he thinks, gazing through tear filled eyes,
“You’ll soon be soaring your own blue skies,
Leaving me behind, never knowing how much,
I’ll miss your voice, your laugh, your touch.”
“My Son” he thinks, cold hand on his heart,
“You and I, too soon, will have to part,
For the way of the world is cast in stone,
And each man must tread his path alone.”
“My Son” he thinks, with senses dead,
“The day will come that I most dread,
When we will grow apart, as we must do,
Without your knowing how much I love you.”
Copyright © 1997 Marty Vandermolen All Rights Reserved
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