My Son At The Window Poem by Andy Caldwell

I used to drive home from work
my son would be waiting in the window
I'd pull up and he'd run out
often close to the death of me
as he would run to my moving car
then I would get out and get a hug
and he would start to talk and talk
he would in detail recount his day
Are you paid by the word I'd often say
He would always laugh and say
Dad you ask that every day
As time passed he grew in to
a fine young lad then a man
waiting in the window is long gone
until some day he has a son