| |
The Gift of Thunder
|
(Bikers and Toy Runs)
|
by
The Ironhorse Writer
©11/14/2002
|
Amidst a sea of leather,
Amongst tattoos and lace.
I become aware,
Of his sitting there.
The look upon his face
As we shuffle through the lobby,
Lay our gifts 'neath the tree.
His eyes grow wide,
Of those who ride.
He smiles for all to see
Amidst a sea of leather,
Hospital gowns of blue.
Harmonious renditions,
Of seasonal traditions.
Of dreams and wishes come true.
Within the youth observing,
I'm struck by the look of but one.
For I've seen it before,
When fate knocked on our door,
And placed that look upon our son.
A birthday cake, a hospital room,
A little boy of four.
We sang, we played,
We cried, we prayed.
That we'd share many more.
The ironies of life are cruel at times,
Questions, yet seldom an answer.
Of all, there was one,
"Must it be our son?"
"Let me fight this cancer."
Thirteen years have come and gone,
The memories, never pass.
As for our son,
He's fought and won.
Thank God for this pain in the ass!
Amidst a sea of leather,
Amongst tattoos and lace.
I shake the hand,
Of a little 'man.'
I shall never forget that face.
Dedicated to my son Rick
who taught me what real courage is all about.
|
|
