While I was fearing it, it came, but came with less fear, because that fearing it so long has almost made it dear. There is a fitting dismay, a fitting despair. This is harder knowing it is due, than knowing it is here. The trying on the utmost, the morning it is new, is terribler than wearing it a whole existence.  I was waiting so long for a miracle to come and everyone told me to be strong, to hold on and do not shed a tear. Superiority to fate is difficult to learn. This is not conferred by any, but possible to earn. A pittance at a time, until, to one’s surprise, the heart with strict economy subsists till Paradise.  So through darkness and good times I knew we would make it through. I stepped from plank to plan so slowly and cautiously; the stars about my head I felt, about my feet the sea. And the World thought I had it all, but I was waiting for you. I knew not but the next would be my final inch, –this gave me that precarious gait some call experience. I see a light in the sky and oh it is almost blinding me. One day is there of the series termed Christmas day, celebrated part at table, part in memory. I cannot believe that I have been touched by an Angel with love. We have been pursued by learned Angels in scholastic skies!  

Neither patriarch nor purulent, I dissect the play; seems it to y hooded thinking, reflex holiday. Let the rain come down, say you will never let me down, and wash away my tears. Let it fill my heart and drown my fears. Let it shatter the walls for a new Sun. A new day has come. Had there been no sharp subtraction from the early Sun, not an acre or a caption where was once a room. Where it was dark now there is light. Where there was pain, now there is joy. Where there was weakness, I found my strength, all in the eyes of a boy. Not a mention, whose small pebble wrinkled any bay, unto such, were such assembly, this were Christmas day. I taste a liquor never brewed, from tankards scooped in pearl; not all the vats upon the Rhine yield such an alcohol. Inebriate of air am I, and debauchee (a person given to excessive indulgence in sensual pleasures) of dew reeling, through endless Winter days, from inns of molten blue. When landlords turn the drunken bee out of the foxglove’s door, when butterflies renounce their drams, I shall but drink the more! Till seraphs swing their snowy hats, and saints to windows run, to see the little tippler leaning against the sun!  

It dropped so low in my regard I heard it hit the ground, and go to pieces on the stones at the ground, and go to pieces on the stones at the bottom of my mind. I am in the dark, I am underwater. Searching for a teardrop in the water. I can feel your shadow over me, I can hear your whisper in my ear. The ocean is bleeding; it is taking me down. I am falling, you are watching me fall. I am watching as your body’s falling deeper and you are looking for a teardrop, here it is. Stars, amid profound Galaxies, at that grand Right hand!  Yet blamed the fate that fractures, less than I reviled myself for entertaining plated wares upon my silver shelf. I remember the way you used to dance, then I remember you that you will never dance again. Now you are fallen, I am falling with you, and with us, our blood, our love. If the foolish call them flowers, need the wiser tell? If the savants classify them, it is just as well. Our heartbeats used to move in time, but they have slowed down, left us behind. This is the story of a fallen love. Those who read the Revelations must not criticize those who read the same edition with beclouded eyes!  I like quiet times alone—they make me realize how very special you are to me. Happy Mother’s Day With All My Love. Momz—I love you. Bye (P.S. Daddy Wrote This for Me).