(My Benjamin Raymond)
My son, I do not say, “prepare for the marrow”
Because I do not love the you that is today
But because I be not there if it brings you sorrow
My son, I do not ask better of you to please me
But because I wish you better than I can give
On the morrow when it is no longer this way
My son, there is no great answer to living
Only the things that we are to another
The true gift is never understood at the giving
It can never be purchased with silver or gold
It may be, but can never be touched by the hand
It may be, without ever being understood
My son, do not fear the trembling of my heart
Nor feel little at the accomplishment of your age
Most of what I say is meant not for the you you are
But you that will be put in membrance of their sound
And the heart in you that will know the love in them
My heart fills my eyes with the desire to still be
My son, I do not say, “prepare for the marrow”
Because I do not love the you that is today
But because I be not there if it brings you sorrow
© 1996, Tim D. Coulter Sr.