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
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...
ReplyDeleteIt'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.
ReplyDeleteSomehow they grow too fast
ReplyDeleteFast food make them last
Good morning
Keeping clean
Learning fast with class
Hank
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.
ReplyDelete