and blood on his cheek.
He comes with eyes of loam and gold.
He comes to you again andagain,
as a youth and a man.
He has never forgotten you.
He comes with burns on his back
but standing straight,
hiding his scars and his shame,
wearing a half-thawed grin.
He has never stopped thanking you.
He comes with no answers,
with nothing, only love,
a heart like a sun,
and a soul like an African rain.
Will you open your arms to him
and hold him so tightly
that when you let go
he falls down laughing
happy to be alive,
happy to be a father and a man,
happy for you
and for the first time, yearsago
that he heard your voice
like the whisper
of a summer wind?
--
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