My Son

A small poem for my son.

His cheeks pale white,
his nose a bright red.
Down the hill he comes,
riding his sled.

I see his smile,
as he races past me.
How long has it been,
since he sat on my knee?

Now he’s so tall,
so strong and so brave.
And I smile at him proudly,
as he jumps off his sleigh.

And I know this now,
as he climbs back up the hill.
I will love him forever,
and be his father, I will.