A child grows in stealth, as a costly blessing.
It eats you hollow, draws your juices by the claims of time.
Years pass innocuously as a day much looked forward to
And creeps into the future.
Have I loved you well enough? I wonder.
As you lift your face towards the years I might not see.
The ties that bound us fray. Where I loosened, I reel them now.
But your younger self dissolves silently
As you stand gloating over the child that is lost.
It is only natural, I suppose.
As if cruel nature would soften the stinging of words unsaid
And hair not stroked, regret rests me.
The only glory we know lies in your smile
And a kind word you speak to strangers.