Papa Poet

St John Muse

I was on vacation last week with my oldest son and his family at the beach.  We shared lots of splashing and laughter and it was good.  One quiet afternoon, my son and I observed this poem.  All I did was write it down.

One day many days ago she ran and kicked
and sprayed like my eight year old granddaughter
swimming to the island tethered in the bay
playing King of the Mountain with friends
wrestling and pushing and falling
with a splash into the salty swells.
This day she inches to the water with help,
one on each arm and another to supervise,
none too agile though ambulatory, arm in arm
the Rockette line wade knee deep into the sea
her dual aluminum canes supporting them all
and there she stands a scant two minutes
and remembers a former time,
or at least I remember.