You Have No Idea What You Mean To Them
To those counting their reasons
But as my thoughts and my wishes danced with death, I walked by a mother and her smiling little boy
With his feet dangling from his chair, with big blinking curious eyes.
The ballet halted.
If I had died this morning, I would have never seen that boy smile.
One day, he will grow tall, and his feet will finally reach the ground
And maybe, one day
He too will offer his hand for the slowdance
And he will try to count his reasons to stay on his fingers
Without knowing that when he was three years old
Just for smiling
He was one of mine
