before I had grandchildren
i partnered with my sorrows
"Come on my boys, dance with me
'neath a squandered moon."
i turned my cheek
then gave the other
and told them, “Hit me harder.”
hid my wounds and learn to love
the taste of the bitter melon
on their agony I did spit
when others asked for pity
never looked back once
to give a hand of mercy
not i but God who wept
denying second chances
ne'er i prayed for intervention
for the fallen ragged soul
they had made their beds
they had dug their graves
eden had escaped them
lend me blade and shovel bent
permit me bed their flowers
in the light of a pallor moon
i had a father to match wits
in raising my own children
i didn't need a better model
to know i should not follow
my grandchild is a different bird
for her a warmer nest
for her i'd give my soul
my body second best
i don't dance when her wings falter
by the weakness of the wind
or tell her to bare a cheek
for the world to slap on skin
i guard her like an only bud
first in season blooming
if there's an intervening God
his hand i ask for screening
from him i ask to intervene
next to her, protecting her
as far as his eyes can see
next to her, embracing her
like a sky o'erlaps a sea
