No Prizes

Apart from the changing bluish light of dusk in Spring, filling my child’s bedroom,

Apart from his singular determination to be in my company, no life of his own,

Apart from holding him close in the wet sea winds, telling stories and kissing his cheeks,

There is no prize for being alive.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s