An old poem

11.12.2013

 

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

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