Babies of
the Lost Generation
When a life
may change in most violent a way.
A storm
howls in amid gusts of fear,
And makes
loud each din in a small child's ear.
Those hateful
winds; they rise and soar,
Until the
path is clear no more.
But cry not
wee child and do not fear,
For after
the wild the calm shall appear.
I hope that at your journey’s end
These words you might hear from a neighbouring friend:
“Just
breathe- you’ll be OK,
And hold my hand throughout this day.”
And hold my hand throughout this day.”
For laps
of kindness will line the shore,
And your worries will be no more.
And your worries will be no more.
Each wave will gather speed,
Just as day follows night- bringing you safely to land and holding you tight.
Just as day follows night- bringing you safely to land and holding you tight.
