"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"