Sully's poem

by Beth Dye

I see him swinging first.
For a child who was rocked so sweetly
Would remember the gentle feel of back and forth.
Those are his favorite
So close to his mother's gentle rocking.
Leaning back, arms outstretched, and then kicking out his legs
Pushing forward and landing on strong legs
Crouching, balancing, with arms steady
Taking his time looking down at the ground.

Next would be the slide
Because nothing invites a child more.
But he would take his time.
Climbing up to survey,
Then sitting, inching forward to get just to the edge
(A little nervousness before the plunge)
And down he goes, feet landing with a hard
Plunk in the mulch.
Perfect heart now beating fast.

And why not the rest?
Running to each piece
Climbing up and climbing down
And doing it all over again.
Sitting on the ride-ons and feeling as though
They could take him anywhere.
Grabbing in the mulch, throwing it up
Letting it land all around him and in his hair.
Shaking it off and running again.

This boy is real though I only know him in dreams
But the place is now becoming real.
And the same Spirit lives in me
Who abides with him and with this place.
The same Spirit who never left, will never leave,
Encircling, covering, surrounding
Breathing joy and contentment
To all who run and climb and jump.

Could it be that He made another first?
Perhaps it was waiting when he arrived
And ours is merely a reflection
Of a heavenly place built for children
Taken too soon?
Surely the children know it,
They feel the beauty and joy of His presence.
And a weary world where our Sully could not stay,
Is blessed by a tabernacle where children can play.