They cradled her when she was small,
a tiny man creature wailing in their arms.
Too young to remember the way they held,
the softness of their touch,
or nervous-awkwardness when passing the parcel.
Precious gift, wrapped up in a bow,
in a dress, in a bonnet.

Too young to remember playtimes.
Dancing at bedtimes, teasing, tickles,
pictures and paintings, new songs,
always making them smile.

Too young to realise, as she grew,
when exactly she lost her lustre.
Gradual but definite.
They no longer waited with baited breath,
stared with wonder, lost track of time.

All grown up they are strangers,
shadows on the peripheral.
She misses the love she has lost
but does not remember.
They have gone and moved on.
If only she knew they cradled her when she was small,
wailing in their strong protecting arms.