"Dad you are
getting old"
my kid
sounds alarmed,
as he yells out
that warning.
His curious eyes spied
the stray strands
of grey hair
I refuse to hide,
I could guess.
Just up from the bed,
slipped out of his
mother's hands
he is eager to stand
against the scale
to see how much
did he grow last night.
He opens wide
his sleepy eyes,
to look closely as if
to gauge the change
and looks betrayed.
I see the moving
shadow of time
in black and white
in those little eyes.
"My kid is
growing up"
I realize
"Time to slow down
and hold his hands"
Poem 2000