CHILD
Your lips have blessed my lips and touched my soul,
Your age has been a beauty without time;
In you I held a mirror to my goal,
And felt my love would live on for all time.
Ah! If that sweetness now was touching me,
Ah! If all that’s fine still shone out its fair light,
I'd wrap you warm and lovingly
Hold you close throughout the night.
I held a love that would not let me leave,
I shaped a passion that would never die,
I cried, and now at last it’s time to grieve
For time must - time will - time will ever fly.
So hush, my child, I love you still, ‘tis me:
Though age has called, in here - in here, you’re free.
20/3/00
All babies grow up, and when they do all that you're left with are memories of their innocence, and memories of the profound love that you felt for them. In your memory they're still young and free.
Here's a poem by Louisa May Alcott, author of 'Little Women,' called Our Little Ghost, all about the playful innocence of a child.
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