Diamond Dads

April 2008 - Poet’s Place
by Anne Buck

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April 2008 - Poet’s Place

When he was young I took my place
Of honor near the dirt,
Knuckle-clenched to chain link fence,
Watching for his shirt;
The one that bore our name
And bound the two of us as one,
Clean to rusty brown or green,
It read, “He is my son.”

Sweltering heat, mosquitoes, gnats,
Mistaken umpire calls,
Three-dollar bottled waters;
My son was worth it all.
“Steal or stay?”—he’d look my way,
I’d clench the fence real tight,
I’d lace his cleats, they’d come untied,
But it would be alright.

The years have passed; he’s older now,
But I am here again,
As my son takes his place of honor,
Outside, peering in.
His time now to pace and pray,
“Don’t let anyone get hurt!”
While watching for his son who wears
Our name upon his shirt.

Why did Christ die for you?   www.whyhedied.org

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