A kiss from grandmother

a prayer that rain

will wash our land

the acorn that sleeps

a tangy breeze

heralding love

a leaf that falls

and turns its brightness

though we know

nothing is lost;

and here in the dark

as the solstice rolls:

a dusty shed

and a small cry

harbored in whispers

warmed by hands

eager to hold

the little visitor

who arrived at last

who heard sounds

that sang in his ears

who looked into eyes

joying the newness

who snuggled safe

while the watchful night

breathed again –

little things

give hope.