These arms
would love
to hold you
close again.

These hands
would wish
to bless
above your brow,
through mist,
somehow.

Theses lips want
to kiss your forehead
as they did
before you died.

These eyes want
to collect the tears
they've shed
and swim to you
through time's hold.  

These words,
my son, these words,
seem too fragile
for their task,
too frail to convey
the love I have,
hope they get to you,
not fail.