In the dawnbreak stillness
Two steps past dew lights fading
She wonders at the First Born’s kindness
And at the world’s parading
What will become of mice and men?
Why does an inch of growth take years?
Who will remember unsaid longings?
Who’s close enough to wipe these tears?
Another year, somewhere past noon
And in the quiet breathing
It’s Grace that fills the largest wounds
And brings us back to being.
-William P Young
