
When I think of my young son,
his head a fish bowl,
thoughts like minnows
chasing mosquitos.
Lips, a pebbly beach
worn smooth by childhood tides.
When I think of my grown son,
a dandelion seed,
microcosm of possibility,
traveling vortex
in search of fertile soil
to meet his needs.
© 2022 | K.Hartless
I love the smoothing out the roughness of childhood in the first stanza, and how it connects to a “microcosm of possibility” in the second. Lovely write, K. 💜
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Jeff. Its such a wonder to watch him grow so far, and I can only imagine the changes ahead. I appreciate this lovely feedback. 💜
LikeLike
So beautiful. Your love for your son is limitless. ❤️🙏🏻
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, John. It is indeed. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you, Michele. I was very inspired by this artist, and I keep returning to her works, such a deep well.
LikeLike
Wonderful phrasing, K.
LikeLiked by 3 people
love the contrast between the two sons and the images you use to express them —
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thanks, John. My sons not grown yet, but I can imagine him a man. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person
Lovely poem.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. I have these little sprightly muses prancing around all the time.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such a tender poem here! ❤ You paint some charming and powerful descriptions, K 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you for these kind words, Tom. Its all warm and fuzzies to write about my littlest one. Definitely a soft spot. 💜
LikeLiked by 1 person