As my youngest is graduating high school this year, I find myself confronting an empty nest–a prospect that fills me with as much sadness as exhilaration. I wrote this poem when that baby took his first steps, but it feels much more appropriate now:
Like a sailor
on an ancient deck,
you high step
and sway
your fearless way
across the nursery floor.
Past my arms
to where your brothers call
their siren song of bigger boys,
and a world that lies
outside a mother’s walls.
What’s left except
to chart this first
my baby third–
The last to wean
The last to walk
The last to sail away.
♥ ♥ ♥
Awe. Beautiful and precious. Your boy and your poem.
Thank you. It’s an emotional time.
Lovely and wistful. Hugs, Rosemary.
Got ‘em–thanks.
It’s been a long time since the last one threw her backpack on and marched into her future. That is such a lovely poem, Rosemary. He will treasure it always
Boy’s been so busy with end of year partying he hasn’t read it yet! (Love the image of your daughter here. . .)
Oh my! Such a lovely poem.
Thank you, Sheilah–and thanks so much for stopping by!
Ro-You brought tears to Grammy’s eyes…….
Not hard to do these days! xoxo R
The power of beautiful writing to capture those universal emotions. Gulp!
Ah, thanks. (“Gulp” is right!)