Whether Mukluks or Loafers

three years old I followed in his footsteps

returning with a battered box

he surrendered his treasure to daddy's princess

portal to a new world, watching through the lens

shutter click like a door slamming behind me

another in the long hallway I would travel

first, limbs dangling, held on his arm

then a mile high on his shoulders

hands clasped side-by-side

now two steps ahead, checking behind seldom

but always certain he'll still be there

because even as I lead the way

I'm walking in his footsteps