They’ve left so many times before, this child of mine.

 

Off to take each impatient step,

uncertain at first, gathering steam.

 

Always away, towards 

eager participation in

life’s array of challenges 

and delectables.

 

Coming home, 

A backward turn,

 

Moments of definition

when I know

 

I am not their rock 

but their resting place.

 

Grace-notes they offer,

tributes to memory, 

the time I have invested.

 

Gracious glances 

before moving on.

 

Privileged knowing,

never forgotten—

 

a trust I have paid into 

for all these years.