A Life of One’s Own
By John Herlihy

I looked in casually from the other room;
But the child didn’t know I was watching there.
The little boy played alone with due diligence,
Going about his business with time to spare.
His friends called him Danny, a name I couldn’t bear;
To me he was always Daniel, my own teddy bear.

His voice seemed disembodied, a thing he didn’t own,
Speaking as if to someone, even if he was on his own.
To watch him you would think him self contained,
With nary a worry to bother him, the world just refrained.
At one point his pursed his lips, thinking like an old soul,
Wrapped up within him, waiting patiently to grow old.

The soldiers stood stately, unblemished and without sin;
Daniel sat cross-legged on the floor with a mischievous grin.
He touched the last standing figurine, his finger a magic wand,
A multitude of soldiers fell one by one until the last one down.
My son never looked my way, he only stared at what he had done;
With patience and deliberation, he stacked them again, having fun.

My heart felt like a violin string upon which a sorrow was played;
Everyone has a life of their own, in the life of our time fully displayed.