Wee Steps Poem by Francie Lynch

Wee Steps



The red high chair,
Now empty there,
Has carbon foot-prints
On scuffed rails,
And impressions
On the tray.
Digs from a previous day.

Her first steps were small,
Unsure, unstable,
Needing balance,
Yet proving able.
A two-step dance,
An infant's prance,
An infinite chance,
She tottered to the door,
Drawn and wanting more.

I fell forlorn
By those wee steps,
She's already gone.

Monday, April 20, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: childhood
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Francie Lynch

Francie Lynch

Monaghan, Ireland
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