My Son
Bruce at Seven
I wonder if you’ll understand, still being only seven,
how having you has given me a little slice of heaven.
My angel with a freckle face who’s very much a boy.
Who’ll fly a kite or run a race or take his sister’s toy.
I really thought that every age was just the very best,
but worn out knees and scuffed up shoes put others to the test.
And Oh! Your mind, my darling, I’d like to understand
how nails and screws and shiny rocks become so very grand.
Or why you lie awake at night tucked quiet in your bed
Then suddenly run ask me if all dinasours are dead?
Or if the sun is just a star and what is on the moon?
And do I think you’re old enough to go to camp this June?
What makes those things tucked in your drawer dear treasures that you love?
A lump of coal, a jar of paste, a worn out leather glove.
I’ve found some cowboy pictures and a tiny ball of string
And even to my horror, a dried out chicken wing.
There’s times you’re very naughty and try my patience too,
and tease and scold till I’m perplexed and don’t know what to do.
But there is one thing I do know when back from school you come
You’re walking heaven in my door when you call, “I’m home, Mom.”
I wonder if you’ll understand, still being only seven
How having you has given me a little slice of heaven.
Bruce at Twelve
Remember how I spoke to you when you were only three.
I lifted you, my precious babe, and sat you on my knee.
I told you there would come a day when you’d be strong and tall.
When you could swim or wear a mitt or play a game of ball.
You asked me, “Is it very far when I’m a great big boy?”
I couldn’t say, “Don’t hurry, son. You bring me so much joy,
I love to sit and rock you, or sing your favorite song.
I thrill to see you run to me when anything goes wrong.
One day you’ll be too big to rock, you’ll sing songs of your own.
You’ll stand for hours to comb your hair, solve problems all alone.
And we would never understand, when you were only three,
that on the day when you were twelve how very proud I’d be.
We only thought I loved you more that I could ever say.
But I’ve a little secret, son….I love you more today.
I wonder if you’ll understand, still being only seven,
how having you has given me a little slice of heaven.
My angel with a freckle face who’s very much a boy.
Who’ll fly a kite or run a race or take his sister’s toy.
I really thought that every age was just the very best,
but worn out knees and scuffed up shoes put others to the test.
And Oh! Your mind, my darling, I’d like to understand
how nails and screws and shiny rocks become so very grand.
Or why you lie awake at night tucked quiet in your bed
Then suddenly run ask me if all dinasours are dead?
Or if the sun is just a star and what is on the moon?
And do I think you’re old enough to go to camp this June?
What makes those things tucked in your drawer dear treasures that you love?
A lump of coal, a jar of paste, a worn out leather glove.
I’ve found some cowboy pictures and a tiny ball of string
And even to my horror, a dried out chicken wing.
There’s times you’re very naughty and try my patience too,
and tease and scold till I’m perplexed and don’t know what to do.
But there is one thing I do know when back from school you come
You’re walking heaven in my door when you call, “I’m home, Mom.”
I wonder if you’ll understand, still being only seven
How having you has given me a little slice of heaven.
Bruce at Twelve
Remember how I spoke to you when you were only three.
I lifted you, my precious babe, and sat you on my knee.
I told you there would come a day when you’d be strong and tall.
When you could swim or wear a mitt or play a game of ball.
You asked me, “Is it very far when I’m a great big boy?”
I couldn’t say, “Don’t hurry, son. You bring me so much joy,
I love to sit and rock you, or sing your favorite song.
I thrill to see you run to me when anything goes wrong.
One day you’ll be too big to rock, you’ll sing songs of your own.
You’ll stand for hours to comb your hair, solve problems all alone.
And we would never understand, when you were only three,
that on the day when you were twelve how very proud I’d be.
We only thought I loved you more that I could ever say.
But I’ve a little secret, son….I love you more today.
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