Poem for Lucas
Soft head snuffling.
Mouth moving rhythmically.
Intimately cocooned together,
you teach me your ancient skill.
Trust implicit,
each a part of the other.
Simple, pure, fleeting,
our eyes locked,
souls singing.
What will you be?
My precious, precious child.
Our own precious children turned into a six and a half foot skin head who loves his mum and a five and a half foot Goth rock chick who is still dads little girl... 
they both work hard and play hard too.
