For my boys, now grown, but in memory still green.*
Sleep, child, the winter is long
and the harsh winds blow cold,
but in my arms you are warm.
The time will soon be here
when you will wake, grown and alone,
to find me passed from this lonely earth.
The years will fly and you will wake to springs
long after my arms have left you,
long after this lullaby is sung.
But now I hold you as in a dream
and thank whatever gods may be
that we are here, just you and me.
~mce