Will your little hands
comparable for me
to the tapping hands of Handel
be remembered?

Will your young mind
comparable for me
in acumen to Curie

How much violence deflects
and how much is imbibed
by your little,
grandiose mind?

Remember that perfect
railroad track,
your trains turning the corners
of the miniature city
you created?

We both played and smiled,
yet your work brought out
something unexpected
when we saw a display
of your father’s simmering spite.

He kicked the railroad,
destroying your trains,
and your perfect city.
Your smile moved
to confused crying,
poor, wonderful child.

Remember though
that imagination,
like elemental energy
cannot be destroyed,
and no matter the suppression,
we will wait for the emergence
of your innate genius,
as distinct as Da Vinci’s.

One day it will flower again
with sweet stems outstretched
absorbing all light,
and shutting out the darkness
that comes your way.


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