My Children

I watch the grains of golden sand
Now sifting slowly through my hand:
They are my times with my children.

And as they each fall into place,
Upon the ground their patterns trace,
I see the lives of my children.

Thus one by one they mold and make
The shape and course young lives will take
In my few days with my children.

For once the grains have slipped away,
I know I'll question day by day:
Have I been true to my children?

But while I hold them in my hand,
Those precious grains of golden sand,
I'll give my all for my children.

Copyright 2000 James McAlister

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