It doesn’t happen very often now,
Your head upon my shoulder, nestling close,
The need for comfort overcoming pride.
I treasure you, my son, with all my strength,
Your face so near, like looking at my own –
Your father’s eyebrows too, I’ve always loved…
The years all fall away with that one glance,
I glimpse my little boy in my embrace,
The baby, then the toddler, fast asleep,
I grew you, birthed you out of my own flesh,
And you became my heart walking about,
But as you’ve grown I’ve learnt to let you go,
The necessary severance of that cord…
To pierce my soul, to take the toll!
The price of love, the mother’s part,
To see you go and watch you fall!
This poem was originally posted on Stories from the Street on 6th May 2009