Looking Back
How do I tell them about your tiny fingers and toes?
The smell of your baby head on my chest?
The warmth of your skin as you slept in my arms?
How can they know of your first little words?
The times when only we knew what was funny?
The grumpy face of awakening from a nap?
How can they see your joy at learning to read?
The world you discovered in the pages you found?
Of wanting to fly or live in a Hobbit’s home?
How will they know the fear and excitement?
The questions, the fears, the quiet upon discovering?
The crash of realizing people can be cruel?
How can I make them understand who you are?
Not who they see now as they come from afar?
How can I give them the vision to see?
That the girl they so love is no stranger to me?
How can I show them the light that’s gone out?
The sadness that’s come to fill you with doubt?
How can I give them a picture of time?
And let them see that you’re loved and you’re mine?
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