I watch my son playing <br />Running and dancing <br />Building with bricks <br />Imagining the little plastic man exists <br />And talks to the little plastic dog. <br />Barking, mad. <br /> <br />His electric car flashes lights <br />Beeps when he pushes buttons <br />Follows his commands <br />Racing into shadows <br />And jams under the sofa. <br />Sounding, loud. <br /> <br />He calls dad <br />“the rescue team” <br />Long arms to reach <br />And recover <br />What is out of reach <br />Of two year old arms. <br />Stretching, me. <br /> <br />How long before I say <br />“Bed time now Daniel” <br />And not wanting to let go <br />He will cry, even yell <br />How easily paradise is lost <br />If only for a moment <br />Stolen by attachment <br />To what he has. <br />Binding. him. <br /> <br />As we grow older <br />Those moments <br />Of paradise lost <br />Will we let them <br />Grow and swell <br />Until life is only filled <br />With the pain of <br />What we have lost? <br />Or go happily <br />On our way <br />In anticipation <br />Of endless possibilities <br />Of each brand new day. <br />Freedom, ours.<br /><br />David Taylor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/paradise-lost-4/
