Sunday, August 14, 2016

The younger sister


Tanning on the shoreline
Paddling a babbling brook
Lazing in the sunshine
Reading a children's book

Learning her Italian
Correcting misspelled words
Walking in the garden
Watching soaring birds

Crying at a bird's corpse
Found in the garden bed
We make a tiny casket
So she knows it is dead

That's my baby daughter
Who's growing up so fast
Pushing eight already
That leave's me so aghast

Clashing with her brothers
She has a dour expression
That's come in recent times
She's hewn them down again

Image found at www.aliexpress.com

5 comments:

  1. You are on a roll Old Egg - love the rhyming scheme and the emotional tug..how quickly time passes...but when we're eight being a little dour is ok...

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  2. It's such a paradox that we are compelled to help them grow up but also grieve the loss as they do. My grandson is 8 and I'm feeling this too.

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  3. Somehow they grow too fast
    Fast food make them last
    Good morning
    Keeping clean
    Learning fast with class

    Hank

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  4. Eight is an age where I remember my youngest scowling, hating being the youngest. Her repeated comment from age two on was "NODDA baby!" LOL. Your poem took me back.

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  5. This is so inspiring! I love the post:)

    irenethayer.com

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