“What the
mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.”
~Henry Ward Beecher
Cradle
What words shall I choose for you today?
What will your eyes absorb of the world as I take you on a city stroll?
Your littleness is not little.
Your cheeks are cheeky.
You are and are not mine.
How will I ever explain death to you?
I will say, it is just a door,
~Henry Ward Beecher
What words shall I choose for you today?
What will your eyes absorb of the world as I take you on a city stroll?
Your littleness is not little.
Your cheeks are cheeky.
You are and are not mine.
How will I ever explain death to you?
I will say, it is just a door,
A portal,
To another Universe,
A coffin of celestial cradling.
I will say, please,
When I go before you,
Don’t visit me too often.
I am in the coffers of your heart,
And watching over you,
Always, even if from afar.
I cradle you then place you in your cradle,
And realize,
You have been cradling me all along.
To another Universe,
A coffin of celestial cradling.
I will say, please,
When I go before you,
Don’t visit me too often.
I am in the coffers of your heart,
And watching over you,
Always, even if from afar.
I cradle you then place you in your cradle,
And realize,
You have been cradling me all along.
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