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MAN CHILD

My son has become a gangling shrug,
A grunt at hello or goodbye,
And cloaked in this bubble of arrogant youth,
He hides his sweet nature inside.

His eyes are his mother's. They blaze out beneath
A strong brow, so akin to my own,
And soon now those shoulders will broaden and change
As his voice, which changed some months ago.

I watch his large hands, as he wrestles his friends--
This insolent cub with the lion's great paws--
And see both a stranger, and sometimes a mirror
Reflecting his strengths and my flaws.

I watch for the glimpse of the man that will be,
Sad that the boy must depart,
But his smile is the smile of the child that I held
And ever shall hold in my heart.

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