The Generation Gap
“I love your child” I say to my son
as he nears the age of forty-one.
“I love his vigour, his laughter, his noise,
his brash ebullience – so strong in boys.”
“In him – not me.” my son replied”
“You’ll never know how hard I tried
to make you say ‘well done my son’.
You never did. I never won.”
“I love your child.” I tell my daughter,
wanting always to support her.
“I love her pout, her childish guile,
her winsome ways, her sunny smile.”
“In her – not me.” my child replied.”
“So many times I sat and cried.
Your waspy tongue attacked with ease.
When young I tried so hard to please.”
I loved them then, I love them now.
My heart is heavy wondering how
in younger years, and lacking thought
my petulance of action brought
a rift I rue, a heart-ache sad.
A gulf I never knew I had.
Perhaps they too will shed the tears
spilt love brings low in future years.
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