Sanctuary

The little infant cries and gurgles,

He squeezes his hand and reaches out,

She caresses him, comforts him, 

He smiles and squeals and shouts.

Intimacy in its deepest form blossoms as days pass by,

Then it is time for the caterpillar to turn into a butterfly.

He flies away as the world watches,

The people judge and criticize,

But mother keeps an eye on him,

Only she can empathize.

She bats her eyelids as his heart flutters,

She wrinkles her eyebrows as he suffers,

She sighs when he is relieved,

She cries when his heart hurts. 

She is linked by a bond unbreakable,

She is tied for a lifetime,

Yet these ties never scar her,

To her infant she is the shrine.

As her soul fleets by into the afterlife,

He is in her final thoughts,

The infant curses and moans

Wondering what fate has wrought.

Yet she watches over like a golden angel,

Her eyes wide yet caring,

Her soul burns in the fire of his death,

That is when the infant finds a sanctuary.