but why do you choose me
does my warmth surge white in
the veins of an evening rain
or glow blue green in
the cool of a morning shower
If I am hesitant
your wise and knowing ways
are my eyes
if I am strong
your shy and tender ways
are my arms
If we really met
would I recognize you
would your hair be
swept back in a wave of night
or combed straight
on the shoulders of day
Io dovete averti,
ma perche' lo scegliete ?
Il mio calore si solleva bianco
nelle vene d'una pioggia ?
... O, emette luce blu verde nel
freddo d'un acquazzone di mattina ?
Se sono titubante,
i tui modi sapere e saggi
sono i miel occhi.
Se sono forte,
i tui modi timidi e teneri
sono i miel bracci.
Se realmente venissimo
a contatto di, li riconoscerei ?
I tui capelli sarabbero scopati
indietro in un' onda della notte ?
... O, si pettinerebbero
diritto le spalle del giorno ?
This child, so tender and mild. If I were an artist,
I'd render him styled in the likeness of
The Little Drummer Boy, sharing his humble gifts
of Love and Joy. This boy, so like a gentle breeze.
What ploys might others use to rob him of his
special grace, deny his rightful place among the toys?
This little man, what plans might interfere
with growing up from playful pup to Chanticleer?
This wide-eyed, eager son, ripening in the vineyard.
Allowed the fullness of time, his fruit will be picked.
Guided by the Keeper's Hand, a Light will draw him on:
This Man-Child in a Land swarming with Stars.
He will come to hold and harness the cold Light
in his palms, as he whistles in the chill night air.
Hardy in his own special way, I wonder if he will ever
pick and taste my petals or fathom my reality?
( Dedicated to a young boy with dyslexia )