Fleeting

My children lay
Silent in their beds
Sure of their world
Sure of me
Along their own path
They have started
And must travel alone
But maybe
For these few steps
I can walk beside them
Presenting the joys
Of a flower and a bird
A breeze and hardy company
Warmth and wisdom
My only gift
From the cold

-T. Weeks
(A response to “An Old Man’s Thought of School”)