Son

Your troubled eyes trouble me so.
So much like my own as a child
When throubled by the quarrels of life.

But I want to see your eyes alive,
Flashing pools of deep blue fire
Entirely your own, inspired by
A plethora of sights unknown to you.

Just not so very much like mine
That grow tired of strife aand
Bemoan the arguments I find.

(1993)

Jeffrey Spahr-Summers