My Children

I remember my children when they were young.
Yes, it seems like only yesterday.
Within my hand I thought I held their souls, though
their lives appeared so much smaller then.

Did I grow careless? Surely I did not mean
that dreadful hurt they now hate me for.
My heart has became no smaller, that I'm sure.
From where came that coldness, as they grew.

In small choices, unnoticed, our lives were set,
while my eyes were fixed on other things.
I'd not expected judgement and if I'd thought,
I'd have said "of course they'd understand".

There was much laughter and so much sharing too.
And yet, by them, that is now denied.
How is it they cannot see how much I cared.
I wish that my children were still young.
And so was I.