Early morning Sun lit your strong hands as you cradled the roots. Brows knit in concentration, tenderly lowering the blooms. Patting the soil as softly as I used to dry your tiny, unfurling limbs, when this was your bath. Your deep, Brown eyes look at your handiwork, then duelling crows on our rooftop drew you away. Yet I remained, looking fondly at this vessel of New life, and my hands could almost still feel the fierce warmth of your lovely head, as I lowered you in to your first bathings. My heart holds all of that reverence and love still, almost five years later.
©Tom Tide 2017