When my children
Were small
I liked to
Tiptoe into
Their bedrooms
After they had
Fallen asleep
Just sit
There quietly
Listening to
The melodious rhythms
Of their
Soft breathing
Reveling in
The harmony
That circulated
Through their rooms.

Years later
Sitting sentry
In a darkened
Hospital suite
With my sleeping
Second son
I still find
The same contentment
From this
Fatherly act
A welcome echo
Of the distal past.