It makes me sad when you cry for me,
For I am not really gone.
And as you make your pilgrimage of sorrow
Up the lonely, unforgiving hill,
The warm west wind that caresses your cheek
Is my tiny hand, touching you with love...
And when you weep at my grave,
I weep too, for your broken heart.
But don't you see that fleeting movement
In the corner of your eye?
It is I, playing hide and seek with you
Among the stones...
And when you remember my childish prattle,
And ache to hear it once again,
Listen to the wonder of the birds,
Chattering outside your window.
They are my voice now,
And their song is my laughter...
And when a fawn trots across the misty lawn at dusk,
Pausing momentarily at the edge of the wooded glen,
To stare at you with soulful, loving eyes,
You can almost see me.
And I know that you whisper my name,
But I must move on...
For as the hawk soars high
On gentle updrafts toward the Sun,
My soul flies to my God,
Who waits for me with open arms
At the dawn of eternal glory.
And I am a child forever...
Copyright by Don Dorflinger, 2009