|
| Amanda |
| (a grandfather's thoughts) |
| Amanda, just a few years from now |
| I will stand there and sigh |
| at your sight on the dancefloor: |
| Your prom dress deep blue, |
| like the sky |
| into which you're about to take wing |
| your eyes, I think, never so bright |
| as this evening that seems just for you |
| and the boys who will dream |
| of their dancing with you |
| slowly close, |
| their flushed cheeks |
| brush your fawncolored hair. |
| Will you know what to ask of your life |
| as you'd softly possess |
| with your presence |
| all those around you? |
| I will stand by the half-darkened wall |
| and I'll hope you will once |
| turn to look back my way, |
| your smile that will make me |
| almost a young man |
| standing proud and upright with my cane. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1998) |
