“The Sitting Time” |
by Joe Digman |
Don’t listen to the foolish unbelievers
Who say forget. Take up your armful of roses And remember them, The flowers and the fragrance. When you go home to do your sitting In the corner by the clock, And sip your rosethorn tea, It will warm your face and fingers And burn the bottom of your belly. But as their goneness piles In white, crystal drifts, It will be the blossom of their moment: The warmth on your belly, The tiny fingers unfolding, The new faces you always knew That have changed you. Take their moments And hold them As every mother does and every father does, They will always Be your children. And when the sitting is done, You will find Bitter grief could never poison The sweetness of their time. |