Last night my 14 year old was working on an assignment from class. He was to write a poem about what it would be like being old, or how he pictured being old. With permission, I’m sharing it here:
dawn, a burst of color.
creaky joints rise from the bed.
tiptoe from the room
to the kitchen.
flour, water, yeast, sugar, butter
stirred together, once extra for love.
a rolling pin, cracked and worn, like the hands that have rubbed the handles
many, many, times.
cinnamon, nutmeg, brown sugar,
rolled together in a recipe passed down through generations.
placed in the oven.
sit down, rest my hands and arms.
waiting, waiting, ding!
reluctant legs rise again.
garage door
perfect timing
a shout from the hall
Grandpa!
running footsteps,
a hug. another.
the aroma of fresh baked bread.
cinnamon, smiles, sweet sounds of contentment
shouts of laughter.
bedtime
a long day.
an old man,
full of love.
snore.
After reading his poem I remembered how much I also enjoy reading and writing poetry. And then appreciated how thoughtful his poem was.
I realize I have a long way to go in raising my kids and I fall short so often, but I am grateful for the little glimpses of light that let me know that something we’re doing as parents is encouraging love of family and our kids are learning.
Don’t give up! Fight the good fight!!
Kayleen
So good! It was so cute, I loved it.
Thanks for stopping by Elio!