Listen to poem:
letting go, just
I watch him
gathering days in arms,
like handfuls of sand,
spilling, pouring,
into an hour-glass
with never a grain lost.
His voice, once sweet and melodious,
cracked,
now fed on adult's breath.
His steps impress, they sink deeper into the dirt,
confident and sure-footed with knowing.
He no longer looks back
to make sure I’m still
there to care and watch.
In fact,
his furtive glance away,
shows I'm about to become
somewhat of an embarrassment to him
when in company of his friends and mates,
though he's too kind, good and shy to admit it.
So I just, let him go,
just stand and watch
at a distance,
when I can,
amazed at what
my son has become,
when let go to grow.
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