The Prodigy-Written About My Son
The Prodigy
He waves his hand
Upon the air
Like the maestro
At an ensemble of Mozart
The wind instruments
In rhythm with his baton,
Playing each measure, one by one.
And in tiny rhymes
He announces the first tercet
In rhythm with his steps.
Each line is concise, a note bereft
From the little pinky on the left.
For, in his eyes, the symphony unfolds,
As thoughts of reason, and brave acts bold,
For, he is but one
And I am composing the lines
He has written—
Its beauty, a story untold.
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