soft grumbles

my son has set off on a journey
not on a plane, train, ship or car
neither by bus, not even by tram

all he has is what he has -
smidgen of morsels
from his father's tales
or his mother's caresses
to tell him she cares

armed with his bow and violin
he glides his way with
dulcet notes, pulsating vibratos,
pixelled pizzicatos and arrogant arpeggios
unleashing a fierce brute
or a beautiful maiden –
letting loose the yin and yang

he has a long way to go
with different paths to take
he may stumble along the way
but he will never know
the broth is sour or
that the sauce is sweet until
he has dipped his spoon in it
so I will have to let go

in the meantime
I watch him fulfill a dream

I once had

rolly