A mother yields herself to enter

Her child, who nestles close and sleeps

With all his wisdom pressed

For comfort to her breast.

I can remember my relinquishment

Of consciousness and care,

Almost of life, upon my mother’s heart—the great content

Of being there.

And then I loved a starry boy of three,

Who looked about him, smiled and took to me,

Held out his arms and chose me among men

For his companion, to confide

His smiles in and to be

At ease with. Closely by my side

He sat and touched the world, to see

If it were solid and worth touching. When he died,

I too was dead ... and yet I hear him say,

Laughing within my heart today:

“Lo, being you,

And having lived your years, this will I do,

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