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GOLDEN |
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Oh small soft bloom, sprung from the best
of every generation, sweet golden child, so blessed with talents from the wombs before you. May those quick wits never be slowed by illness, fear, confusion. May those clear eyes shine forth their light upon my doings. If I could only shield you from the coils of life I would rest easy in the knowledge of my worth and purpose. That I cannot, not now, nor even later on grieves me more than these my homemade half-baked words could ever tell. May you forever walk in light through fields of gold. May nothing blight the crops you sow, the truths you feel. And should you stray from paths of wisdom, from the right, know that to me you will be ever wonderful.
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