Morning light streams in through the window panes
Golden, like the hair of your baby boy
When he first came into this world.

Afternoon light streams in through your window panes
Bright, like the eyes of you darling boy when he first realized
He could speak.

Evening light streams in through your window panes
Red-gold, like the flames your boy uses to
Light up a cigarette.

Night outside the home's window panes
Dark, like your son's eyes when he pretends
He doesn't know who you are

Dawn light streams in through the hospice's window panes
Muted, like your baby boy's expression
When he learns to love again
(But it is too late)