The mothers gentle gaze.....
Her loving touch.....
The moon beam draws a picture.....
Of how our love is made......
Over a simple branch....
Our life is drawn....
The sweet gentle caress....
As the beam massages the thorns....
Gentle, holding the rough stalk
in its silvery hand....
Tracing up across my roughness.....
Pausing as it hits the last
green-ness of the bulb.....
Then the beam fans out ....
Sparkling over the sweet dewy petals....
And your beauty grows and survives.....
The Beam holds this flower
as a completed piece....
Even though attached
to the rough barren stalk....
The sweet petals blossom.....
And some how the two are one.....
They need each other....
And they belong together....
And in the night
the perfectness is clear....
Somehow under the mothers gaze....
We make sense....
