My darling, your tired eyes
do not go unnoticed,
and your weary limbs
are not ignored,
though all seems against you,
and you’ve walled yourself
behind your door.
When your tears begin flowing,
and the dam bursts to flood,
remember my love,
call out to me;
I’ll come to you,
be beside you, listening,
together in the mud.
Born fragile,
every word
against him
cracked his
confidence,
so he
armored himself
with layers
and layers,
of thickened,
smothering
skin, so
the jabs
didn’t cut,
the slurs
didn’t bruise,
and the
poisonous
hatred wouldn’t
sink in,
yet while
keeping out
the world,
he found
himself alone,
forgotten
with only
his oboe
silent within,
until God
who adores
the always
remembered
fragile, appeared
and created
a new,
unique song
especially for
him
to call
through the
veils muting
his psalm’s
send.
There is a cardinal warm
red against the sparkling
white snow falling softly.
And he gives me hope,
like the little red cardinal
of my Daddy’s childhood,
who must have followed
Dad all the granddaddy’s
fields’ way, farm to town,
country to hospital, determined
to give the little child’s faith
a lift over his red scarlet fever.