Beautiful And Lost Out Of Doors Poem by Robert Rorabeck

My days are numbered while your eyes will
Always stay brown and childish:
Paradoxically, your children will grow and say things of your
Own,
And you will still not know how to swim, but maybe you
Will remember how I carried you into the sea and cradled you
Beneath the diademing airplanes:
And crooned for you just that day when we were both playing
Hooky off of work:
And the sun was both of ours, and it shown down on our
Bodies, and the kind angels sang the goodest of news,
And we both admitted that we were both too nervous for our
Interviews;
And you dabbed my lips, and I dabbed yours; and we
Were both so free and ours, beautiful and lost out of doors.