How little hands reached out to me,
When I could stop the chill
And hunger
In the night.
And how you'd always run to me
To share the sparkle
And the turbulence
Of flight.
Too swiftly gone,
Those early morning years,
That talcumed sweetness
And your hand in mine.
Too swiftly gone.
When did I look away?
When did the little boy
And man combine?
Now here you are,
My wise and splendid son.
Long gone the child,
Unless it now be me.
Still reaching out,
Still making memories.
Because you know
That one day you will be

                   Donna J. Stone

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