Joined: Sun Oct 24, 2004 2:25 pm Posts: 357 Location: fluting the hump
Today would have been my first son's 9th birthday. I wrote this after his death at 3 monthes old. On my way to pick him up the day he died, I heard "Given to Fly" for the first time on the radio.
This is in tribute to him. I love you baby.
little hands ~ Riley's song
Hey, little one
you burst into this world,
with your arms a-flailing
and a cry so wonderful.
You put your hands around
my fingers, then I could see
you were the greatest gift
that I would ever receive.
You were going to be a Poet,
but you became my muse.
Little hands
rearranged my life, and
it would never be the same
Little hands
grabbed at my heart, and
helped relieve my pain
Little hands
conducted the music, and
we all danced along
Little hands
performed the magic,
as we all watched in awe
Ohhh! those little hands
Hey, pumpkin,
it’s seldom when you cry,
giving me more time to
play with your hands and
look in your eyes.
Two sets of blue eyes
staring one at the other,
I’m seeing myself in these
eyes full of wonder.
Such a valiant little guy,
was showing me the world.
Little hands
rearranged my life, and
it would never be the same
Little hands
grabbed at my heart, and
helped relieve my pain
Little hands
conducted the music, and
we all danced along
Little hands
performed the magic, and
as we all watched in awe
Ohhh! those little hands
I dropped in that night
to look on you, so peaceful
with your hands
balled-up at your chest,
but I didn’t want to wake you.
Hey, little angel, now I
wish you would awake,
and I could feel your little
hands, just one more time,
clawing at my face.
How I wish I could hold you, feel
you, kiss you, miss you once again.
Little hands
rearranged my life, and
it would never be the same
Little hands
grabbed at my heart, and
helped relieve my pain
Little hands
conducted the music, and
we all danced along
Little hands
performed the magic,
as we all watched in awe
Ohhh! my little angel,
Good night sweet prince.
_________________ There is a limit to the admiration we may hold for a man who spends his waking hours poking the contents of chickens with a stick.
-King Alobar, Jitterbug Perfume
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