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In the mirror of their eyes, my past does softly tread,
Each misstep and stumble, in their visage is read.
The furrowed brows of choices, not from the heart’s true plea,
In the faces of my children, my history they decree.
Oh, the echoes of my voice, in anger harshly thrown,
Now etched upon their innocence, in a somber, silent moan.
The weight of words unkind, in their tender spirits caught,
In the faces of my children, my regret is deeply wrought.
For every path I wandered, that led me far astray,
Is mirrored in their gazes, at the closing of the day.
The shadows of my errs, in their smiles softly blend,
In the faces of my children, my lessons without end.
Yet, in their eyes, forgiveness, like the dawn’s forgiving light,
They hold not my transgressions in the quiet of the night.
Through love, they grant redemption, with each forgiving glance,
In the faces of my children, my hope is given chance.
So let me be the sculptor, with gentler touch and tone,
To shape a brighter morrow in the seeds that I have sown.
May they grow beyond my failings, in their hearts may wisdom dwell,
In the faces of my children, let my better angels swell.
R.M Anderson 2023
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