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12 June 2014

Sleep, my little one

My little girl, in the darkest hour of the night
I tip-toed into your room again
as you drifted on your sea of dreams
and I watched you sleep
and my heart filled and then
almost burst open.

I wept in silence, my tears
diverted as they fell
by the smile of my
quivering mouth,
joy and sorrow co-mingling
on my tired cheeks.

I thanked you in whispers
and inaudible sentences
for being my daughter,
for existing and bringing
your burning torch into
Plato's cave, taking my hand,
and leading me out.

I begged forgiveness
from your tranquil pose
of peaceful recline,
forgiveness for being an adult
and forgetting sometimes
the important things in life.

Forgive me, my princess,
for trading in giggles
in favor of irony and sarcasm,
of forming impressions
of friends based on how
they make their money
instead of the contents
of their dreams,
for forgetting about
the tremendous magic
of imaginary tea parties.

Sleep, my little one,
and dream and stay a child
as long as you can, and help me
to find the little boy who still
lives deep within me
and wants to come out to play
one last time.
Sleep, and I too will sleep, and we can
dream a single dream.

RR Shea

1 comment:

  1. I found this quite moving. Very well--sensitively and thoughtfully--done.