by Gideon Burton
For decades now, unraveling the tight,
The winding ball of this our spinning home,
And still I wake with shudders, sweating, fight
To feel, to know, to have it to the bone.
And yet, in sudden thieving, children pass
Unshriven, hardly catching breath from birth.
The purest cries, the cleanest giggles last
But seconds, robbing innocence from earth.
I know of God, I trust in Him, and yet
His summons come too harsh to tiny limbs,
Before the fall in them has even set
They spring to death who leaped with playful grins.
Forgive me, sons, I hold too tight, too long
Your cries are joys, your tantrums angels' songs.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - Photoholic1