Flight of Little Old Me

I held precious hands and watched her toes curl and bend
as she yawns with a trust and hope all in a swirl and trend

I have held his failing hand as he watched the ceiling fan
breathing shallow, whispering terminal words, a dying man.

I have whooped and cackled with recklessness in seizure fits
a buzzing current running down the spine zapping the wits

I have wept and joined the mournful fall of pattering rain
Felt the slip and tearing of grip on a thought once sane

Danced, ate ice cream, and swam mild waters blue
written, sang, dreamed, traveled, uttered false and true

I have paddled waters with azure ripples and bubbly froth
I have submerged in white cotton sheets of infantile sloth

I have tread stone paths with right angles and definite lines
I have loped along muddy paths askew yet true as God's signs.

I joined dressed guests at union ceremonies candles and lace
I have peered in wooden boxes holding the cold, pallid face

I have felt the tears spill as I the tune reach a height
I my smile reaches across the corners in an antrorse flight