by Barbara, on her porch in Boothbay Harbor, looking at the majestic windjammers and waiting for fireworks later
I rarely, rarely write poetry, but I recently came across this poem I wrote in a writing class in 2007. The writing prompt was, “Finish the phrase, ‘It’s too soon to tell.'” I wrote it before the thought of grandchildren had even occurred to me. (Or to either of my kids, thank goodness.) Anyway, it tickled me and I decided to share it.
It’s Too Soon To Tell
It’s too soon to tell
Will he have his mother’s fine skin,
His father’s auburn hair,
His Uncle Charlie’s protuberant ears?
It’s too soon to tell
Will he have his grandmother’s gift for music,
His grandfather’s way with words,
Cousin Violet’s wonderful laugh?
Will he run races like his Uncle Pearce?
Build great cities like his Cousin Neville?
Or write software like Rita’s daughter…
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