The times have wandered off the clock,
And merged into the very air,
That table where I would sit and stare,
To will away the hours grown heavy like a rock,
Has faded into an ancient thing,
Where I once sat a churlish child,
Now here I am, a manling,
Free, unfettered but wary of the Wild;
A far cry from those Lucid Dreams,
That I would weave and prophesize,
With Hope bursting at the seams,
Of eyes unwashed, that fantasize.
I have now a solace in habit,
And no more excuses from exercise,
No more that spry, errant rabbit,
That darts away from Mother’s cries;
The years have gone and so have I,
From an eager Future to Auld Lang Syne,
From pondering when, to pondering why?
Thus has changed these thoughts of mine.
And yet a niggling Hope has come,
Of having what my Father had,
A Dream I yearn to live, welcome,
A Home, A Hearth, A Love, A Lad,
To see him creeping inch by inch,
To meet his Father’s proud, happy Eyes,
To see him grow up in a cinch,
To see a Man, I taught to Rise.
.
