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From The Essence Of Life itself.

Updated on October 17, 2009


From The Essence Of Life Itself.


This morning's pancakes
with their dribbles
of maples tapped,
dot his chin
as he toddles
off to  pre-school,

Later the essence

of cocoa beans
will flavor his ice cream
and speckle his face,
like brown freckles.

From the very beginning
between the stirrups
where he spilled from
the syrup of afterbirth,
till this moment of sticky goo
I have just shared,
I have watched him drool,
masticate,and blow bubbles in
the syrups of cows,and coughs,
and snow cones
as well as Gerbers various
pre-concocted delights.

Every day he

wears the syrups
of life on his clothes
tattoing all he enjoys the most
in strange patterns
that I must eventually remove.

In his rush to savor

 the sweetness
he often loses

some of the quantity
to lesser stations.

How so much

like life is that,
in our own rush to enjoy
the nectars of life,
we often dribble

much of it away
finding less

in our impatience
and our rush

to inhale more,
then we would have
if we had only savored
each and every drop of life
squeezed from our hearts.

He'll be home later,

splattered with the

various colors of lunch,
in polka dotted sticky,

syrupy patterns,
on his fresh white shirt,
giggling at my

wide eyed gasp,
as he explains

away every one
Just a roadmap of his day,
that we'll surely

ketchup on later.
as I relish the thought.


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