Wednesday, January 27, 2010


With book tight in arms, he wrestles to climb
The heights of the rocking chair.
He settles in--his tiny toes frolic--
And I cannot help but stare.

The pages wide, with words memorized,
He pretends to be like me.
Inflection, correction, and some misdirection,
The last phrase--then he watches to see

Me sitting below, observing his ways--
My adoring cannot be contained.
To watch my young son, imitating my ways,
How could there be an ounce of disdain.

I imagine my God, looking down from above,
In similar, unobscured manner.
Pleased when He sees, His child--one like me--
Somewhat clumsily following His banner.

Holy-completely, Righteously reigning,
Yet I pray I never forget--
He dances and sings, above one just like me--
His love fully paying my debt.

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1 comment:

Amber said...

Awesome, a legacy in the making :)

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