Mon Petite

12/31/07

Though difficult the days, when in my arms

Banished were the demons of the night,

Forgotten in the moment all the harms,

The terrors and the all consuming fright,

The painful blows, the cataract of tears,

The beatings with the lash that sears the soul

And childhood's nightmare memories and fears

That on the blossoming spirit take their toll.

I call her mon petite, my little one

Who with such tender care revived my heart

From loneliness and self-oblivion

That I might heal and see my grief depart.