The mirror of an old photograph looks back at me with closed eyes,
The loving peace of a safe resting place,
In my arms a fleeting moment with myself,
Trust,
Loving trust,
Dreams,
Wishful dreams,
And the tiny in out breath whispers
As hand and feet miniatures wave or dangle,
And so many faces, changing faces; old man and young, serious and fun and all that lies between.
For here lies potential. He is here, he is now,
Rocking
Gently rocking
sleeping, peacefully sleeping
An echo of myself and suddenly it is gone,
now my love, his mother looks back at me with closed eyes
like the mirror of an old photograph.
