A Father’s Lament

Oh, there is the garden, I wish we had played more...

In the night's still and early morning's embrace,
I toiled for hours in that fluorescent space.
Fifty, sixty, often seventy or more,
Work was a battlefield; life was the war.

Reflecting now, I clearly see,
A boy who longed for his father, he longed for me.
Often absent, I pursued the wage
To meet our needs, with time my only gauge.

So many missed moments, and I am to blame,
Why was I absent from those Little League games?
First day of school, sat an empty chair beside,
His first heartbreak, with tears he couldn't hide.

Yet Today, he's a man in his prime,
Married, content, embracing his time.
Raising three sons, a sight to adore,
His life's story, rich to the core.

In his ways, he mirrors my past,
I pray he'll be the father I wasn't at last.
Valuing moments over wealth or fame,
Breaking the cycle, not playing the same.

In his eyes, I find no reproach,
Yet in my heart, regret does encroach.
I long to rewind the hands of time,
To when his world was simple, sublime.

To teach, to guide, to hold his hand,
To be present, to understand.
But time moves forward, never to wait,
And moments lost, we can't recreate.

So to those who toil, day and night,
Cherish the now, hold your loved ones tight.
For in the end, it's not wealth we crave,
But the love we gave, the memories we saved.