A product of the family clay
and fate,
or chance.
You're so much more
now,
yet so much more is yet to come.
Environment has forged you.
Contact with strangers, friends and family;
with those who have gone,
and of those who still remain.
All this experience,
life,
and memory,
has tempered you,
made you what you are.
No longer a child,
but with a only a hint of an adult's cynicism.
You laugh.
You cry.
You love.
You are loved.
And you look at me now with a face full of fragments of the past,
but with a mind and heart that is all your own.
Worried,
excited,
but not as much as we.
Go.
Be.
Fly.
But remember to remember.
Fulfill that which fate has in store.
Be you,
be true.
We can ask no more,
for that alone will be enough to make us proud...
~
Dedicated to my children. Every day you make me proud.
YOU ARE READING
The Tree of Dreams
PoesíaRandom poetry and the occasional drabble or dribble of other short random thought from the depths my somewhat bemused brain, or possibly Brian if the schizophrenic misspelt pseudo entity that lives up there is up to his old tricks... poems from the...