Little one,
you sleep beneath distended clouds,
budding unabated, bearing fruit of nectar
amongst the screaming cicadas and cracked pavement.
You lay unaware, a new, barely formed thing,
but your seeds shall fructify, defy,
gulp in rain and mud, and from it
something beautiful shall emerge, you.
A miracle, springing hope from
your mouth and hands,
you grasp the summer day like
the fever of a dying sun, raging and soft,
unyielding to the end of things,
for you never stopped staring with
a catatonic daze of wonder.
I hope you will never be waiting
for better days, that you will turn away
from the intoxicating perfume of tomorrow,
for you were never patient child, and you
never have to wait for today.
For you amaze me,
from the skip and glim in your smile,
you push me to be a growing thing,
and for you I owe it to be
someone worth wishing for.
But little one,
you are soft, and you must remember that
you will never be too broken to be loved,
and I for one can’t wait for you to meet me.
Comments