Oh look! How she caresses gently,
The babe nestled in her arms peaceful
Her face shy of age and motherhood; Pouring her warmth and affection, every
Her gentle touch so pure-as if
Time she touches those pink cheeks
Of the babe who sleeps so solemn.
You know? This boy of seven-and-ten,
Is still a babe in your arms…
Yes those pink cheeks, have grown
Coarse black stubble hair;
Yes that boy who came running to your knees,
Surpassed your height a year thence;
“I know”, she said, as I moved,
Deeper and deeper into her skin,
As if to reach a place of peace; the origin
Which was my first home.
Her hand affectionately caressed my hair I felt protected… I put my head upon her lap;
I felt calmer.
As I poured what rested in me, along with
My devotion,
I hugged her tight; not to let her go.
She kissed my forehead, and ever so peacefully,
I slept.
.
