Friday, July 08, 2005

An ode to Kieran

See how he runs,
my blond haired, blue eyed boy.
No worries or cares,
or fears of growing old.
No weather shall mark your skin,
nor tears carve channels in your face,
but with boundless grace,
you leap from place to place
and conquer all who stand in your way.
Yet now and again,
when it gets late,
you will come to me and sit,
and I will cry because you could never be.
Existing only in my mind,
still it is not unkind,
when you hold my hand
and I fold my arms around you
and feel the softness of your skin,
the sweet innocence of a child.
And you will fall asleep,
with me holding you safe,
forever in my dreams.

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