The Box seat

I found out what I was made to do whilst carrying the boy
In the box seat, front and centre stage
Enraptured in the parody of every pride and joy
Afforded to me now and of an age

An age that only lasts a while before he heads the call
Stands up to find his footsteps in the plan
I’ll lift him still if needs be, or if ever he might fall
Why wouldn’t I? Sure he’s me little man

But in no time he’ll be running and I’ll struggle to keep pace
And danders dare attempt to lift him now
Down routes that branch away from here; it’s still a human race
That memories might gather us somehow

Till one day he might carry me, across the sodden sod
Take the oil light down and turn the page
And if it is just will set free or there’s no sign of God
At least we had the time at centre stage

 

(c) Rhymeclub.com

 

 

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