My eldest of brood is four quatrains of age,
And brooding is what she does best.
Yet sweet is my brooder when not in a rage;
When she chooses to not put my nerves to the test.
The pushing and pulling – extreme to extreme,
Is a challenge I know men have gone through for years;
And while I knew well it would not be a dream,
I expected a little less grinding of gears.
I try not to look far ahead anymore,
as the tears of today are sufficient.
The years will unfold as they have heretofore;
I’ll just pray that I’m not found deficient.
You can see that I’m wobbling ‘tween “oh well” and hell,
Which is basically parenting in a nutshell.
Sweet Sixteen – Sonnet XXVIII
defying atrophy 
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