The Softening

How oft I lie alone at night,
And think upon my son now dead.
My thoughts are pain; my pillow damp.
The darkness deepens, cold and dank.

I wonder how it’d be to stop:
No breath, no life, no pain for once.
But then I pause and draw a breath.
Then rings my clock: another day begins.

And then I see a humming bird
The trees, the flowers, the grass, the squirrels.
The sunrise warms my soul and draws a tear.
For joy my heart then skips a beat.

“From where sprang this tear?” I ask,
“From where sprang my joy today?”
“Has my aching pain caused a softening?”
“And turned my heart of stone to flesh?”

©James Garner 7 Nov 2006