by Richard L. Provencher
1/23/2009 / Family
A little finger reaches out
gentle to the touch
try me on for size,
I'm little & like
You are the parents I long for
I am the child of
And in the hills beyond, dark
quietly recess into the
of the world
a new call crosses with the wind
a bugle sounds
of a kind smile upon the face of
summers to come.
Richard L. Provencher 1986
first published 1986 Green Valley Publishing
The North American Poetry Review
Albia, IA, USA
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