I made no time for Etruscans then,
Though their exploits made time for me;
I declined to walk on much longer
To find ruins I’d been told I should see.
Etruscans were vanquished, past Memory’s recall,
Yet guidebooks had called them immortal.
For two-year-old granddaughter Audrey
On a hilltop let go of my hand.
A child’s intuition detected attraction,
More vital, and closer at hand.
On a saucer swing’s pendulum motion
She made space for her grandad to join her.
Her shrieks of joy, as we swung there together,
To my quest, a fitting rejoinder.
I put aside all of my seriousness,
And yielded to laughter and smiles,
For each passing moment may often possess
An Eternity precious to Memory.
The writer and his granddaughter Audrey on the swing, with her dad pushing.
