This is the summer bloom and I am upset,
I can now count or estimate at least,
how many times I am going to see this.
He talks. Fluently and wisely, and comes next to me,
and holds my hand as a butterfly scares him,
he jumps and embraces my knees,
tell me, daddy, it is not going to hurt me.
He thinks the small forest is a jungle,
he climbs and wants me to watch him,
he is proud and happy, he can not count,
and not even estimate, how many times
I am going to see this.
The number is far less what I wish.
