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- Primula

What joy can fill the heart,
Even while sorrow breaks it?
Entering, I gather her in:
Small and innocent, onto my lap.
Her round eyes have never known fear,
Bright as a flower and as innocent.
Her small hands try to reach around me,
But she cannot.
Not yet. She has to grow.

He said I was meant to be whole,
And that wholeness surrounds me;
I must find a way to soak it into my heart.
To knit, and to heal and to close;
To fulfill my last service to him.
My heart: it tries to reach that place,
That wholeness he bequeathed to me.
But it cannot.
Not yet...

The firelight plays on her baby curls.
My dear wife brings hot tea to me,
A cup of milk for the little one,
Offers comfort with a wordless look.

There is so much here to be thankful for.
A fine, full life ahead for the living.

Rose stoops and gathers up the child,
Fallen asleep in my arms.
Leaving them feeling lighter, colder,
Empty of warmth accustomed.
I suddenly find I have to lower my head
To hide my tears.
"Are you all right?"
"I'm... only kind of tired.
I think I'll just sit here by the fire awhile."

The flames are blurring on the hearth.
I do not deny the truth in what he said:
I was meant to be whole.

Just not... quite
Yet..