Dawning times

I watched you in the dawning times,
when light was still to breathe,
and saw the rest and rise of you,
so small, so new and yet to be,
what days and months and years,
would bring, as time, would sure
dictate, and take us through the
drifts of fate; finally to meet.

The ants would creep in silence,
the birds would sing sublime,
and creatured life would carry us,
through that which had been drawn,
and not yet cast upon the face,
of space, reality, and yet which
charted carefully, the paths for
you and me. How dark the days,
and bright the nights, and harsh
the clouds become, as trailing
through the detritus, you found
your way, my son. No words could
ever trace a map, delineate, reveal,
the way that life would take you,
or just how I might feel.

For in the living, is the task, the
mirror we have brought; reflecting
back the plans we made, before
we're ever born. This work of soul
demands we hold, to trust, and
love and faith; seeking ever
courage, finding grounded space,
and knowing that each grain of
sand, earth leaf, each drop of rain,
is all as perfect as we are;
it's just the way we're made.