Soft hands once held tight,
small fingers grasping
strings of laughter—
bubbles of wonder.

Now, steady hands weave
threads of her own,
spinning life’s fabric
with quiet resolve.

Footsteps that still dance
through sunlit sand
also press firm paths
of wisdom and grace.

Her voice, still a song
belting with fervor,
speaks with echoes
of strength and love.

Mischievous smiles remain,
tempered by time,
yet still lighting the room
with their knowing glow.

Bright eyes, still seeking,
but also seeing—
a future shaped
by hands once guided.

Trusting, complete love—
a father watches,
holding tight to pride,
as she floats beyond—
on threads of time.

Small hands clutching tight,
strings of laughter tethered
to floating dreams—
bubbles of wonder.

Sand-filled toes in shoes,
quick feet dancing
through my greatest dreams
of who she will be.

Soft kisses from lips
formed from my own heart,
melting into a
stream to her future.

Sweet songs of her love,
belted with fervor
from within the small,
light-flowered sundress.

Mischievous smiles,
doll-filled hands spinning
games that fill the day
with her glow of joy.

Bright eyes signaling
a future, brilliant
as the twinkle
of stolen stars.

Trusting, complete love,
holding tight to life
as it drifts beyond,
on bubbles of wonder

Feet shod in mud,
chasing frogs and dreams
in a world all his own.

Sweat spills from young pores,
racing currents of futures
not yet known.

Tight embraces,
soon-to-be strong arms,
swelling pride in a father's heart.

Wood and leather,
worked to tough threads—
faith stitched into his aspirations.

Grass stains on knees,
bending the world to his will,
moved by dreams.

Anthems of hope
rise in his heart,
lifting his father’s soul
to love’s high planes.

The quiet secrets
of love and compassion,
hidden by modesty,
are known to all.

He follows his dreams
through mud-soaked fields,
where slick frogs slip
through eager hands—

A world he shapes,
a world he claims,
a world his father
once called his own.

i tell myself not to chide you child  
not to berate you into a convenient obedience
yet....

just last Monday eve
i told your voice that it was shrill   like a hurt bird
(that cuts a career as Singer out of your future)

just yesterday
i told you graphically and with crazed gestures
about the dangers of the open upstairs window
(a future fear of heights may well be on its way)

and i remember once
i told your body that society frowns upon ******
(that'll ensure future embarrassment  shame
and ****** awkwardness)

i chide myself now
   these practices must cease