Simply The Best

 
 
 
  
 
She delights in the most improbable.  
like breaking her crayons 🖍 to hear the pop.  
a testament to the strength she’s developed in 967 days  
 
But when she’s done  
So are they  
 
She wants no part of the tattered ones  
 
Dutiful father.  
I pick them up  
Not able to teach her  
just yet  
that the tattered ones  
paint the best stories.  
Their armor easily  
And willing shed to provide brilliant texture and contrast  
 
I’ll try to teach her to love  
the broken ones  
Even as they grow smaller and smaller  
Speckled with hubris and laughter  
Tears  
Love  
And the hope  
Of yesterday’s  
yellow sunshine  
And rain  
Green grass.  
birds shaped like m’s  
And clouds made the same way.    
crooked windows  
And tilted doors  
 
I’ll tell her  
Listen to their stories precious one  
so that you may know yours.  

The Joyful bairn at his sire's side in the throng,
The kindred shot with a photo stick at the parking lot,
The hollering of the children at the sire's return,  
The talking set with the poppa's voice the son's joy,  
Capture the sight and in the teary past dwell.
 
Not fading in the sight the teary past lives fresh
Long gone the days of kin's meal and fairy tales;
The growing apple seed in a rumbling tummy,  
The rebellious couple, the axe, the shining moon,
The warring soldiers, the mushrooms, the race to live.  
 
All your toiling turns out to be after the wind,
Humble abode amidst the green in realm forsaken,
But now in the opening deep forever laid,
Where your forefathers in wooden boxes sleep,
Awaiting if he wills the clarion call of the son of man.
 
Never to see again disdainful looks of disapproval,  
The smile of approved acts, the wake call for pray'r,
Never to look again, the tears of the loved bambinos
The pains in their eyes, or ask if with food they are filled,
If only some mem'ries die or in the teary past dwell not!