Tuesday, 29 October 2013


No wisdom can I claim to wield,
My learning life yet done,
A father, fresh, naïve and green,
I dream what life may yield.

For you, my son, nigh five months old,
I wonder who you’ll be,
You’re changing right before my eyes,
And shaping your own mould.

Blue eyes of thee, the hue from me,
Your nose is button round.
A smile of innocence – it’s love,
It’s artless purity.

Blushed cheeks bequeathed maternally,
They illuminate with joy,
Or laughter. Oh, my boy is this,
Your personality?

You’re lively, fun and feisty mate,
A right-foot kick to keep.
In fact, you’d think your left one’s lame,
But then you stand up straight.

With devilish eyes, a scheming look,
A cheeky side’s on show.
But just as soon, a timid pout –
A mummy’s boy? A sook?

With age, the patience of a saint,
Demanding cries are rare.
A calm young man, you ought to be,
Oh such a virtuous trait.

Each morn, before the sun doth rise,
At two, or three, or four,
Your voice is used with earnest cause,
Does this mean that you’re wise?

Your father, fresh, naïve and green,
I guess though trivial,
For how you’ll grow, or who you’ll be,
It’s too soon to be seen.

But dream I can, and guess, I may,
Of who you will become.
Please know, my boy, my love, my son,
That I long for this day.


  1. thanks for posting this it was simply beautiful to read

  2. Love seeing a man express emotion about their children. Thanks for sharing

  3. Thank you very much for commenting, and for visiting. I really appreciate it.