Boy Years
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Boy Years
Somehow,
(Did I blink my eyes?)
(Was I distracted by everyday care?)
Somehow,
I looked around and you
were grown.
The boy years flown –
gone.
Seems overnight
they took flight and
swiftly, so swiftly
passed from sight, and away.
Gone…
Those days of backpacks
toy guns and surplus cammo.
And the terrific battles
fought –
out among the trees
on your knees, watching
for the enemy –
(your brother), planning,
directing and executing the
orders sure to bring swift victory.
Till, at last, close of day
as if from far away
the voice of the general –
Me,
Calling you home.
Those days of backpacks
toy guns and surplus cammo.
And the terrific battles
fought –
out among the trees
on your knees, watching
for the enemy –
(your brother), planning,
directing and executing the
orders sure to bring swift victory.
Till, at last, close of day
as if from far away
the voice of the general –
Me,
Calling you home.
No more do I own that
Privilege.
You’re grown…
The boy years flown.
Your battles not your own,
at another’s command, the
guns not toys.
And with others, no longer boys,
you march to the
Cadence
of the call of your country.
Privilege.
You’re grown…
The boy years flown.
Your battles not your own,
at another’s command, the
guns not toys.
And with others, no longer boys,
you march to the
Cadence
of the call of your country.
And I, though so proud,
still wish to be able
to step out the back door and
give the order that brought you
running on swiftest feet –
still wish to be able
to step out the back door and
give the order that brought you
running on swiftest feet –
“Come and eat, boys!”
Written for my oldest son, Sgt. Ryan Wilhite, while he was in boot camp.
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