See the innocent ones;
The ones who know
Only that they exist,
That they like to be hugged,
And they want to be loved.

These are the children,
From whose eyes still shine
The light and memory
Of what came before
A life of challenge
And change, and learning,
And programming
In layers upon layers,
Levels upon levels,
Until the light shrinks,
Casting Now only a pale
Shadow with murky edges,
Where it once made
A crisply defined silhouette.

The children look into my eyes,
Searching for some vestige of
That light within me;

The light is what
They remember most,
And is the primary thing
To which They relate -
Without words, without gesture.

It is either present
In my own memory and
Visible in my eyes,
Or it has been buried,
And I have not found
The courage to uncover it.

When the children search my eyes
And see no light,
They quickly move on
To the next person,
Looking for the nurturing
Light of the everlasting,
Which they left behind
Only a short while ago.

HM 3/12/95 ©