The Guardian Of Dreams
This poem is written by Foxy, a fox who looked after my youngest son, as he was growing up. Foxy is still on duty today. Do not lie beneath my lonely rampart, And see an ancient, worn, discarded toy, I am the guardian of his childhood dreams, And he is my child still, that ungarnished boy. Only when I hear his joyful laughter do I rest, I am he who held at bay his youthful fears, It was I who gave his dreams the wings to fly, He made me, more than once, to bathe in tears, I listen still for the beating of his heart, Close beneath his arm and beside his breast, Where we fought and cried and laughed as one, And I, like a meadow’s flower, was pressed! I know the weight and value of his love, And if you would have him love you too, Then listen for the beating of his heart, And count yourself among the precious few. He became a man as I stood by his side, I implore you, take him and hold him dear, While I stand my watch each passing day, And help protect him from all that’s drear. I ask if