Infants of joy

Infants of joy prancing naked by the river inspired a verse,
forgetting, way to head back to such joys, but I remember,
forever leering, silently cheering, never partake, what a curse,
the river stilled to gaze the rapture of toddler holding timber;

I stiller with an ache to call some such bundle of joy my own,
the child pleased but he and the river will cease as I head home,
an empty home, empty of life and people, a place to mourn,
yet now I see fathers doting and mothers cuddling their best poem;

I can’t match such beauty in my errant verses I humbly admit,
why is it always about me and not them, even this pristine innocence,
become a parent to know, said my father’s voice inside my head tilt,
the scene dissolved, the crowds left, the river quit making sense;

I sat there stubborn, like an infant waiting for someone to take home,
but no one came, no one cared, unloved the wisdom of this tome. 

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