She lies in my arms,
I trace the curve of her soft skin.
Her long lashes sweep her cheek
and she gives herself
up to sleep,
up to me;
a gift of

My own eyes dimmed with
the press of passing years
and creased skin with
laughter lines
and low lids
trembling with
tears, at her
faith in me,

undeserved! as I and
my peers have
profligately profited
from her future
set her
planet alight,
pardoned the despoiler
and punished
our children.

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margins are a great place sometimes because it is where change happens fastest but it is also a horrible place when we are stuck in them and grace is the moment when we can see that someone cares.

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