When I hold your little hand in mine
as we go on our walk,
you, little girl, little granddaughter,
who can so quickly turn vigilant, frightened,
at a loud noise, say, or a harsh word,
or smile in quiet joy at a proffered wildflower,
are my bulwark against mortality:
yet so it is, the world’s most fragile things
protect us even from the edge of doom,
prevent the flood of time though we leave soon.
as we go on our walk,
you, little girl, little granddaughter,
who can so quickly turn vigilant, frightened,
at a loud noise, say, or a harsh word,
or smile in quiet joy at a proffered wildflower,
are my bulwark against mortality:
yet so it is, the world’s most fragile things
protect us even from the edge of doom,
prevent the flood of time though we leave soon.
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