You never saw the spring, my love,
or the red-tailed hawk circling high above
on feathered wings, my love.
You only knew the snow.
You never saw the prairie grasses bend and blow
and undulate like the shimmering indigo sea.
You never saw me.
Your eyes were closed so tight,
they say you put up quite a fight.
Somehow your life was over before it had begun and
gently did I touch and kiss your tiny-fingered hand
born too soon.
You never saw the silver moon
or the light of a summer's day.
Last night I dreamt a gathering of eagles
to spirit you away.
Born too soon,
your tender heart
could not beat
to the pulsing rhythm
of life's taut drum.
(for Nikolai 1982-1983)