I see my little children.
I see their little feet
Running through the sands of time;
Waves of life lapping at their ankles.
I remember their
Soft little arms and dimpled hands
Reaching out to the future.
Bowed legs running, stumbling;
Seldom falling.
My heart remembers
My pride, my angst,
Our endless sea of love.
I can still hear
Their voices, like the sound of waves,
Gently lapping the shore when the world is at peace;
Or roaring and crashing
On the whim of the moon.
I can still see
Their soft, open faces,
Unlined by life’s travails.
Their eyes, deep pools of wonder and interest,
Where fantasy and reality mingle
To cultivate the oyster’s pearl.
When life sits heavy on my shoulders
And my footprints sink into the sand;
When clouds of cynicism
Form thunderheads above,
I let their memories take me by the hand
And we dive in those oceans of love and promise.
Once again to see
Clear, sparkling waters,
Clear sands of time;
Polishing life’s pearls.
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