First, I brought you petals from collapsing roses
And you would hold them, wet and full of dew
And marvel face to face, each drop reflecting
Clouds across a clear and liquid view.

You’d cup your hands for shells, run them along
Clay pots I’d fashioned, cards and artless stuff
And I would scan your face and wait to feel
The glow of mother, smiling down. Enough.

The thrill of walking with you in the snow
Old fashioned duffel coats and scarves wrapped tight
My arm reached up, your mittened glove held down
The silhouette we made looked awkward, but felt right.

The scent of you, all dressed up for the evening
Hung in the air, while I would have to stay,
Pinned down by crisp white sheets and waiting for
The kiss that sealed the energetic day.

And later when we’d grown and moved away
The phone box queue of student girls and boys,
With filtered news of friends and escapades
I’d fall silent, and wait to hear your voice.

We flew and grew, and you would write each week,
Each letter spoke an alphabet of you.
And we came home, with babies in our arms,
Which you would hold, like petals full of dew.