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...
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