For those former little boys in my life, but especially my sons:
Small Boy
He picked up a pebble
and threw it into the sea.
And another, and another.
He couldn't stop.
He wasn't trying to fill the sea.
He wasn't trying to empty the beach.
He was just throwing away,
nothing else but.
Like a kitten playing,
he was practising for the future
when there'll be so many things
he'll want to throw away
if only his fingers will unclench
and let them go.
(by Norman MacCaig)
(My children are thinking of me this morning as I head off for some elective surgery - and I am thinking of them.)
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