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, 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. 

Hmm. Now it's my turn: Well. 

Thank you for your confidence. I shall keep it here.