...pouring out
of my mouth,
my fingers,
my heart

all these words
aloud
whispered
living in print
(or on screen)

all these words
were gathered
and saved
by a "silent" child
a quiet, thoughtful
child

all these words
danced in her head
floated in her heart
caressed her soul

then like chance meetings
of friends
of lovers
they began to connect
realizing "safety in numbers"
feeling the power of many
consuming all the spaces
in her being

until they had to burst
like seeds of exploding plants
and the child
became florescent

cannot be bought
cannot be found in stores
cannot be touched
or held in your hands

the gifts I want to give you

are the gifts I meant to give you all along
but did not know how
the gifts I tried to give you but could not,
not enough

the gifts I want to give you

won't warm you body
like a woolen sweater
but will warm your spirit

the gifts I want to give you

won't satisfy your hunger
like a box of chocolates
but will soothe a craving
in your soul

the gifts I want to give you

won't be music
played on a machine
but will stir music
deep in your heart

the gifts I want to give you

won't be a book of words
already written
but will be your own
fresh book for you to fill
with your life

the gifts I want to give you

won't be gadgets or tools
won't fit into a box wrapped
in shiny paper
won't have bright colored
bows or tags

the gifts I want to give you
love
 strength
   self-worth
    acceptance
     a free spirit

are all this and more...

I don't want to give you the sun
I want to give you its light
to warm you
and help you find your way

I don't want to give you the moon
I want to give you the eyes
to see its beauty,
the soul to feel its power

I don't want to give you the stars
I want to give you the desire
to reach for them
yourself

the gifts I want to give you
are all this and more

I see you there
suspended for a time
between the shadow
and the light.

You look pale
but peaceful,
in a dream state.

I rest awhile,
a shallow sleep,

then I awake

knowing…

without words
my mind whispers

it’s time

I gently wipe your lips,
brush a stray hair
from your forehead.
It’s all I know to do.

Then I sing
a cherished lullaby
hoping you hear me
hoping it wraps you in love
as my arms wrapped
around you
as a child.

I hold your hand,
kiss your forehead.
In that instant I see
and feel all you’ve been
all that is you

tiny wrinkled infant
delightful, smiling six-month old
curious toddler
proud school age
struggling teen
loving adult

realizing
we're losing all of these,
all that you've been
all that is you

then

I feel your spirit leave…

for that brief moment
I’m overcome with a calm
I can’t describe.

A gift rare and precious –

as I was there
when you entered the world
I was with you
when you left.
     ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~        

"The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough."  
Rabinadrath Tagore

they're in their own class
yet they get a bad rap
those tiny bright suns of
gardens and grass

they give so much
it's really not fair

to make such fun
of the clothes that they wear

clothes that are cheery
and chase away dreary

they're truly a prize
for both stomach and eyes

they offer their leaves
for a salad
it's really true, this is valid

their heads of yellow
made into a brew
can make you quite mellow
and satisfy you

if that's not enough
to give them their due
beauty and charm
sustenance too
giving their all for
a drink and a dish

give breeze
to their fluffy white seeds
they'll grant you a wish