 To My Children, As I Grow Old - Visitor's Poem
by Rene Bartolo
(Davao City, Philippines)
Love is not a word that falls From careless, casual lips; Love is not a warmth that stalls On frozen fingertips.
Love is not a hurried kiss On an old and puckered brow; It is not to say: âI miss ... I miss you, Dad, somehow.â
Not a lukewarm smile or glance, Not a reckoning of years, Not a caring left to chance - Not a memory of tears.
Love is seeing sparks of light In the eyes now dull and stern; It is coloring my night With your crayons of concern.
Love is letting pass the pains From a cutting word or two; For the anger that remains Is more at me than you.
The rage of age that soaks My remaining years, my Child, Is the insecurity that cloaks My love for you inside.
Touch me, Child, upon my cheeks With your youth, as I grow old; Love me, Child, as I loved you When my world was young and bold.
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