Writer's Notebook

There you lie in your mother's arms,
her face a beaming ball of delight;
yours a picture of placid contentment,
taking in succour and sustenance at your mother's breast.
For now, the world is aright.

Another picture, now you're five;
excitement glaring from your eyes
and fear prickling through your pores,
no question in your mind,
as into Daddy's arms you fly.

And then that day I let you down,
a precious lesson that.
'I'm holding, promise, won't let go,'
as on and on you rode.
And when you saw, the wobbles came,
and tears to your eyes.
Yet, head held high you ran and cried:
'Just look what I have done!'

Your teens saw storm clouds thick and black
trouble the hazy sky.
Understand how can nor you, nor I,
as voices raised and crashing doors
brought frustration and despair.
But then, you knew as darkness came,
you're always welcome here.

And now you're leaving, dearest one,
the wide, wild world beckons you to come.
Our turn to shudder, tremble, wonder
what will the future hold.
But letting go, we have each other;
it's our turn to be bold.