I Hear Your Cry

Dear child of mine, I hear your cry.
I know that oft you’d rather die,

Dear child of mine, I hear your cry.
I know that oft you’d rather die,
Than face the scalpels steely touch,
That reaches to your inner dust.

I’ve planned, dear child, what you shall be,
Thus, leave the choices up to me.
I will not probe an inch to far,
Or carelessly your beauty mar.

Ah, child of mine, please understand,
My boundless love your path hath planned.
Your potters hand is never rough,
He knows the time to say “enough”.

Jenny Daniel