by Fabrice Poussin
Old man on a rocking chair, swinging,
flashes of a past that never was, ahead.
A glimpse into a future without return,
too late for the dreams never reached.
The girl of eight laughs in his ear, singing
the baseball, the brother of ten warns.
At two scores and more, she is beauty,
gazing to the old man of the rocking chair.
She smiles, sparks in her eyes reach him,
a last vision of a reality only imagined.