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.
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