Foster children move from place to place,
with memories that walk the night alone.
Nor is the love their's that they must embrace,
Yet most survive with a paculiar grace.
Even though their hearts turn to stone
as they move from place to place,
Perhaps within themselves, they find a space,
To furnish as they would a mobile home.
Finding scraps of things they can embrace,
A memory like some much fingered-lace.
Thoughts and reams that only they've known,
Moving as they do from place to place.
Their chilohood impossible to trace,
In the years of yearning after they've grown,
Filled with love they've chosen to embrace,
yet with their losses etched upon their face,
Pain for which no penance can atone.
How can they move and move frome place to place,
Surrendering their love they must embrace?