“I love your child” I say to my son

as he nears the age of forty-one.

“I love his vigour, his laughter, his noise,

his brash ebullience – so strong in boys.”

“In him – not me.” my son replied”

“You’ll never know how hard I tried

to make you say ‘well done my son’.

You never did. I never won.”

“I love your child.” I tell my daughter,

wanting always to support her.

“I love her pout, her childish guile,

her winsome ways, her sunny smile.”

“In her – not me.” my child replied.”

“So many times I sat and cried.

Your waspy tongue attacked with ease.

When young I tried so hard to please.”

I loved them then, I love them now.

My heart is heavy wondering how

in younger years, and lacking thought

my petulance of action brought

a rift I rue, a heart-ache sad.

A gulf I never knew I had.

Perhaps they too will shed the tears

spilt love brings low in future years.