‘On the night you were born,
I took you and showed you the moon.’
It took you more than two decades to tell me that,
You pretend to be stoic,
But every so often you give yourself away,
A gold Saint Christopher to accompany me on my travels,
A revelation on the morning of my black belt grading,
You pepper them in,
These sentimental gestures
Scattered throughout the years,
And by so doing,
You reveal your true nature.
