“This thing they call something so great A hold so gentle, it chokes Happiness so complete, it aches. A journey that cannot be tamed.
No other call is as deep As rich a tapestry of beads A song that never blinks A time so pure, so gentle and quick For every stab of joy, I bleed For every leap of pride, I plead.
The wound stays and heals Though the irks never leave Until you twist and pull and push To breathe force into their burning bush.
As the momentum dissipates Mothers bury their heads and wait It’s necessary, they say, it’s a must That when the falling breaks cast Mothers shield the fall, as they must.
Until only their voices roam the nights Until only blurry memories take flight.”