It's been years since I wrote the poem: "Hold my hand, Micah," I say to my Three year old grandson as We cross the parking lot at Walmart. My mind fast forwards. I picture a tall young man Crossing the same parking lot Steadying an elderly lady. "Hold my hand, Grandma." This evening Micah held my arm to Maneuver me across an icy patch as We walked into a restaurant. My mind immediately flashed back to my Long ago poem. Pride, befuddlement, Sadness, gladness all vied for my Attention as arm in arm my lanky Grandson and I fulfilled prophecy. |