On The Birth Of Our Son (and The Knowledge That Loss Brings) |
| by Belisle |
As the brittle leaves of Autumn fall,
Carried by the fading Summer's breeze,
We, with laughter and soft smiles, recall
Love's seed planted here among the trees.
While youth does shine ever slightly,
Your beauty, Love, does freely flow;
Yet we too, Dear, must bow and quietly
Into adulthood must we bravely go.
The Morrow brings more promise than today
For our children who do wonder without end
At their future, yet still, as children, play
In this garden of love our hearts tend.
Cry not at the parting bird's woeful song,
For they, like us, must at Winter's coming go;
No! Stand proud and with a will iron strong,
Let not our passing affect our children so.
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