Photo by Priceless Times Photography
“The Flowers of the Field”
The reach within your baby hands so sweet
make father want to hold back ticking time
but even you, my child , are forced to meet
a different kind of father in this rhyme.
He’s called old Time and steals your innocence
Allows your golden play be thrown away.
You’ll not recall this moment with your Dad.
Time’s jealousy will steal and cause decay.
For now, a trust and love for father’s grace.
For now, your world is safe within his arms.
Within this moment is the safest place.
A moment, stilled, with all its poignant charm.
Yet, all the flowers of the field we know
must yet begin to stretch and then to grow.
