I long to take you fishing, child,

Or chasing butterflies in the garden;

To throw breadcrumbs to the sparrows,

And let you splash in puddle mud.

And we’ll have to pick some daisies,

To bring the home for mammy;

Some buttercups and dandelions,

For a show of simple colour.

I long to take you walking, child,

Exploring ruined buildings;

Creating situations in the forest,

And castles on the sand.

And we’ll have to gather seashells,

To take them home to mammy,

With some marble coloured pebbles,

To decorate your room.

I long to take you camping, child,

With tents, and ropes and matches;

Cooking basic meals on embers,

While inventing countless gadgets.

And we’ll have to make a hike or two,

You and I, and mammy,

To let her know that daddy,

Is like you, a little boy.

I long to do these things, my child,

So that you can learn, as I did;

How everything is placed,

By Nature, in its order.

And I suppose I’ll keep on waiting,

Here, at home with mammy,

Until you are of age, to go;

Don’t worry, grow at leisure.

Brendan Martin
Breno©