I know these hands could write a page
Of pretty words, preachy or sage
But not a one amounts to much
When in the grip of terror's touch.
I'm absolutely scared to death.
Lines of worry crease these hands.
Of me and you, our child's the breath,
A soul coming from books and bands.
Our child's the bond of me and you.
If she's the bond, where is the glue?
And yet, written in tower stone,
Carved one day, written by you:
"I'll love you until forever
Or until forever's through."