An old poem



It matters not the wrongs I did

Or the mistakes I made

It matters not the hurts I endured

The insults I suffered

As I hold you tight, and your little fingers curl into mine

Your small body snuggled against mine

I know what peace is

All you want

Is for me to hold you tight

As you sleep

And holding your sleeping form

I know what happiness really is


2 thoughts on “An old poem

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Connecting to %s