Newly born
A babe in their arms
A smile steadily growing
On her petite face.

Arms open to the sun
Rising in the east
Over the lapping waves of the rolling sea
Crashing onto a white beach

At age 5,
A hand reaches out
For the larger hands of love
To guide her way
across ticking hourglass of life
Slowly but surely
Footprints form behind her,
Two by two,
Washing away once touched
by the sea’s commanding force

At age 10,
With a broken foot
A stronger, longer, delicate hand
Reaches out to those with experience
Reaching out to the help
She still desires
But no longer needs
A footprint and a boot print
Forge a new path
Along the waters edge

Fast forward six years
No hand reaches out
But a smile plasters itself
Across the girl’s features
Never reaching her darkened eyes
And yet the guidance holds strong;
Waiting for the return of a sweeter breeze

And so life goes on,
As does the sea,
In and out
In and out
Day or night
Rain or shine
The hand that desired the guidance of experience,
Came in with the tide
Once more
After a period of insincerity

But now when this hand
Reaches out
It is not a young, helpful hand that greets it
But a hand
That has no more help to give
But asks only for her hand,
One hand,
In return
For the years of struggle and aid
It so willingly gave
And sacrificed

Will the younger hand take its place?
Or will it rush past,
Like the waves in a storm,
Erasing the memories...
The crashes of pain,
The booms of sorrow,
Erasing each footprint
Once created on that formerly white beach

Or will this hand,
Now as strong as the tide itself,
Aid the hand
That once was?