My Boy

First shafts of dawn now scarcely fall.
I early drift through soft-lit halls
Of the quaint old dwelling that is our home,
Upon my morning rounds to roam.

Fastly holds my babe to sleep
As lightly through his door I creep;
My fatherly duties to fulfill,
And know that my young son is well.

Bend I so quiet aside his bed
To reflect upon his slumbering head.
His tiny features gently defined --
Soft face, angelic -- near divine.

Hushed breaths, contented, come to my ear.
Rest well my child. You’re safe. I’m here.
Soon you’ll wake to the day’s new light
With twinkling eyes and smile so bright.

But, for now, you lie and sweetly dream
Of toys and teddys -- the soft, serene,
Idyllic world of a child’s first days --
Filled with tickles and hugs and giggles at play.

And I dream too as in mind I see
The beautiful person my son will be,
As through life’s changes my young one does fly --
From infant to manhood -- the joy of my eye.

I’ll shout, “That’s my boy,” to everyone round
When he scrambles to score the winning touchdown.
Or we’ll cast in our lines, with a hope and a wish,
To catch us some whoppers -- and maybe a fish.

But yet other times will join us before --
First steps and Santa, the Tooth Fairy and more.
Homework and driving; dances and friends;
We’ll do all together -- beginning to end.

Then diplomas will come -- marriage, career,
New house, a family. The grandkids are here.
My hair will be gray. My son will be grown.
These times will be memories in my mind to own.

Don’t grow up too quickly my sweet, baby child.
I want still to keep you a boy for a while.
But I hope you’ll remember through good times and bad,
That you are my son and I’m your Old Dad.

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John W. Borland
March, 1998

Affective Skills Web Site

Last Modified: March 22, 2003