Every day we do this son.
You look at me, your eyes glinting with fun.
‘My bag’s too heavy Daddy’ you say with a grin.
Then you pass me your bag and head off, eager to win.
You know it will slow me, and give you a head-start.
And so I grudgingly shoulder your burden, as you depart.
Every day we have a race across the park, to your school.
Every day you ‘win’, I let you, but that’s cool.
Because your legs are getting longer, your lungs stronger as well.
And soon you’ll really be the winner, that much I can tell.
So for now I’ll just treasure these mornings we share.
Running after your little legs, laughing together, not having a care.
Other parents watch us, as we race through the grass.
Or they move out of our way, happy to let us pass.
It’s our thing, our ritual, our little bit of fun.
We do it in all weathers, but I prefer the sun.
Because seeing you running, your golden hair lit up by its rays.
Will live with me forever, till the end of my days.