The hand of the lonely child

Star 4/15/93

The hand of the lonely child,
Slapped away once more.
He cries alone, deep inside, where my ears can't reach him...
Hold the baby, rock the cradle.
My ears cannot hear, but my hands can touch.
I hold his face and look deeper into his eyes,
Chasing the crying child in the forest shadows.
He does not hear me coming, my wolf-friend at my heels.
We find him face down on a moss bed,
Gently I touch him.
He turns to face me, cold eyed but tearful.
Youngling, I mindspeak to him,
Speechless, I comfort him with my heart.
I accept you, for who you are, not who I want you to be,
I only want you to be happy.
And to be your Mother.