Will your little hands, comparable to the
tapping hands of Handel, be remembered?
Will your young mind, comparable
in acumen to Curie, flourish?
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 that miniature city?
We both smiled playing but your creation
brought out something unexpected
when we saw a display of his volatile spite.
Your father kicked the railroad, destroying your trains,
your perfect dream came to an end as your smile
moved to confused sobbing, dear, sweet child.
Remember though that imagination
like elemental energy, cannot be destroyed
and no matter the destruction
we will wait for the emergence of your genius
as distinct as Da Vinci’s.
One day, you will flower again
with sweet stems outstretched,
absorbing all light, shutting out
any darkness that comes your way.