On a sad dreary day, you made a gift to me,
a present of your breast to mine in earnest,
the imprint of a scar in the shape of the lines
your body carves on the world you know.
Thankful I have walked since, comforted,
ever as I may close these eyes, and relapse
into the power of those nurturing arms;
you so strongly wrapped around my pain.
A gift like no other, simple, so remarkable,
upon a return to a world changed forevermore,
at an appointed time, as if one was needed,
you stood, the little girl who still refuses to age.
Better than Mona Lisa, you showed your peace;
the moment continues yet, and there standing,
something fell once, and again, then again,
electrons shot through those silly nerves giddy.
No bow, no fancy carton, a present always,
as your body arched, a step away, and aside,
the air moved with your infinite rhythm, jolly,
to this day, humbled, I know its vibrancy.
Not a physical entity, but so much more,
hovering like a dust of innumerable selves,
with the ability to share all, you are in all,
I thus must give praise to your soul aglow.