and there you are; wrinkled; pink
with a glow that no man ever made;
and I, a part of you for ever, yet
knowing, now, you’re you…
one day in a little time
I’ll take you for your first High Street outing
in the pram or baby buggy;
trying to pretend you’re someone else’s…
not one I’d fight my life for..
pausing to allow some friendly soul
to glance permission to have a peep;
smile; glow; say a few kind words;
then after that first stranger’s looked at you,
I’ll look at you myself; to see
if you look different, or look differently at me
now someone else has met you.
Sometimes, you are more beautiful,
more full of life, more independent and more you;
as if your path through life had taken
its first step away from me; and yet
along with pride, there’s quiet, sweet relief:
you’ll make it on your own.
But still, I touch your pillow, smooth your cover,
look at you for some reassurance
that we both know where poetry may go;
and you – you laugh, and kick the world away.