I HAVE OFTEN WONDERED
 By Philip Birmingham
 
Once, a young mother lifted her infant son
 Held him high and rocked im side to side
 Then, lowering the babe, She placed him against her breast And caressed a few wispy hairs to place.
She encircled feeble arms in her own
And laid his head upon her shoulder
 And as his head passed her own
She brushed her lips against his cheek.
She closed her eyes to a world her own
Where no one else is allowed to be
Then she pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his temple
And felt his heart pulse weakly on her lips.
She held him tightly, too tightly it seemed to me
Then rocked him with her body to and fro
She was enraptured, as if drunk
With the smell, and taste, and feel of him.
Then she whispered softly in his ear
And though I couldn’t hear, she said
 “You are mine own, my beloved
And so you will ever be.”
That was many years ago, many,
But the sense of it is ever bright in my mind
And I have often wondered, often,
If when he was grown and straight and tall
Would he  ever greet her so?
Would he encircle feeble arms in his own,
Or move a few wispy hairs to place?
Would he bind her tightly to his bosom
And brush and kiss her wrinkled cheek?
Would he press a soft lingering kiss to her temple
And feel her heart pulse weakly on his lips?
And would he whisper, “You are mine own, my beloved
And so you will ever be?”
Would he ever, and if he would
I think the breath of angels
Would set wind chimes ringing in her heart.
Yes, I’ve often wondered, often
But I never did.