Our Children

How they play,
 Finding treasure in the sand.
 They're forever hand in hand,
 Our children.
 How they laugh,
 She has never laughed like this.
 Every waking moment, bliss.
 Our children.
 See them running down the beach.
 Children run so fast...
 Toward the future...
 From the past.
 How they dance,
 Unembarrassed and alone.
 Hearing music of their own, Our children.
 One so fair,
 And the other, lithe and dark.
 Solemn joy and sudden spark,
 Our children.
 See them running down the beach.
 Children run so fast
 Toward the future
 From the past.
 There they stand,
 Making footprints in the sand,
 And forever, hand in hand,
 Our children.
 Two small lives,
 Silhouetted by the blue,
 One like me
 And one like you.
 Our children.
 Our children.
 Well.
 You say that often. "Well".
 It's because I don't know what to say, Baron.
 I'm not a Baron, of course. I'm a poor immigrant, a Jew,
 Who points a camera so that his child can dress as beautifully
 As a princess. I want to drive from her memory every
 Tenement stench and filthy immigrant street. I will buy her
 Light and sun and clean wind of the ocean for the rest of her
 Life. Now you know me. Now you understand. I am no Baron.
 I am Tateh.
 Now I know even less what to say.
 Now it's my turn: Well.
 Thank you for your confidence. I shall keep it here.