How hard it is to let them grow,

from boisterous childhood to surly youth.

From cute and clean, to teen revolt.

From children, to budding adulthood.

            How hard it is.

 

How hard it is to let them go.

Like ghosts the memories of tiny feet,

shrill voices and  waterfalls of laughter –

thrill our minds ear, shrinking time.

            How hard it is.

 

How hard it is to let them know,

that they are free to spread their wings.

Their time to fly is here.

Theirs is the right to be them selves.

            How hard it is.

 

How sweet it is to watch them soar

to heights beyond our own small dreams

and with it all, I’m glad to see,

the same kind nature of their early years.

            How sweet it is!

 
David Garlick, Victoria, October, 1992