Offspring at around 30
My firstborn Eve – so smart, mature and lovely,
Now thirty-one, well-travelled, tough some say,
But there’s a hidden wound: her parents split
And she a teenage rebel drifts to sadness.
Thank God for Justin, much loved pony, taught
Her strength and skill. Then years go by and hurt
Again as Pete, her love, falls short; but now, in time
There’s Craig, new love, and she’s content
At Penguin Books: they made the job for Eve.
And then came Tate. Spoke less than Eve declaiming,
Was happy running round his bushland homes.
Could focus well; less worldly than his sibs
But rich in friends as are they all; he most.
The family split weighed more on Tate than all
Of us. Rough friends, tattoos, but soft inside
Like granddad. Same blue eyes to charm the girls.
Friends loyal didn’t stay at school. But life
Is hard out there. So bravely took on uni
And passed. Great stuff! Then diabetes hit
But didn’t faze him. Off to roam up north,
He’s back, with Roshi, lovely Brit. What’s next?
How lucky were we getting Lec! It could
Have stopped at two. His dad had cancer, thus
The child was born in optimism; then
For one so young, so streetwise; later tops
At work and play; a caring soul, and kind,
A true all-rounder. Hitched around the globe
And yet forms deep attachments – long with Cat
So lovely. Wisdom born of doing much
In early years of life. Can argue hard
Against his dad. It’s part of who he is.