Wednesday, June 2, 2010

A poem by a massage student's mother about her son. She carries oils relevant to pregnancy. Her website is:


L. Whitlow 4/2002

Should I be found worthy

to live again your childhood,

I would wake up earlier

to spend more daylight with you;

I could show you the magic of sunrise

and rock you to sleep by starlight

and moonrise;

I would stay up late into the darkness

just to watch you dream;

We would play more on the floor

and clean the house less;

We would carve pathways through the hours

on our knees

and invite more butterflies to afternoon tea.

Sundays we would play dress up together

and let the laundry go;

I would fill my great, wide bed with your battles

and surrenders,

and dust the cobwebs off your crib;

I would travel the universe of your enraptured gaze

as you lay undisturbed at my breast

until you slept,

went off to play,

or outgrew my lap.

If I could live again your childhood

I would hold every moment captive

inside the heavens of my heart;

I would breathe your essence,

and the memory of every smile

would course through my veins

and my dreams;

I would laugh more through your eyes

and worry less over your frowns;

I would abandon sleep and ambition

and be secretly glad you were playful at midnight.

And though we were all this and more,

my midnights now are far too peaceful.

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