*I walked with my daughter, yesterday.
Hand in hand, as when she was a child.
Her mother, guardian once more, I give her hand
a double squeeze; get a double squeeze back.
Her child’s bubbly giggle
inside her adult laugh
shatters time’s persistent grip.
She is five, once more.
Living sweet memories from before,
our break from battle; recaptured innocence.
“I do that with my sons, too.” so softly said.
“Like you. I squeeze twice, and they squeeze back.”
Simple things, lovingly engaged,
become our trademarks.
Unplanned inheritance enriches us,
blossoms in the bouquet of our lives;
the endurance of love, to become
heirloom offerings to the future.
Lin Cava©*
Oct 21, 2010
Oct 21, 2010 at 6:56 PM UTC
*I walked with my daughter, yesterday.
Hand in hand, as when she was a child.
Her mother, guardian once more, I give her hand
a double squeeze; get a double squeeze back.
Her child’s bubbly giggle
inside her adult laugh
shatters time’s persistent grip.
She is five, once more.
Living sweet memories from before,
our break from battle; recaptured innocence.
“I do that with my sons, too.” so softly said.
“Like you. I squeeze twice, and they squeeze back.”
Simple things, lovingly engaged,
become our trademarks.
Unplanned inheritance enriches us,
blossoms in the bouquet of our lives;
the endurance of love, to become
heirloom offerings to the future.
Lin Cava©*
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