Now there’s William. He comes pecking, like a bird, at my heart. His eyebrows are like the feathers of a wren. His ears are little seashells. I would keep him always in my mind’s eye.
Soon enough he’ll be tall, walking and conversing; he’ll have ideas, and a capricious will; the passions will unfold in him, like greased wheels, and he will leap forward upon them.
Who knows, maybe he’ll be an athlete, quick and luminous; or a musician, bent like a long-legged pin over the piano’s open wing; or maybe he will stand day after day over a draftsman’s desk, making something exquisite and useful – a tower or a bridge.
Whatever he does, he’ll want the world to do it in. Maybe, who knows, he’ll want this very room which, only for convenience, I realize, I’ve been calling mine. I feel myself begin to wilt, like an old flower, weak in the stem.
But he is irresistible! Whatever he wants of mine – my room, my ideas, my glass of milk, my socks and shirts, my place in line, my portion, my world – he may have it.
~ Mary Oliver