“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.