Child

I take your hand 

carefully

gently 

firmly

and you flinch momentarily,

You don't like to be led. 

You're not mine,

But it's my work to show you,

Some way, 

The way to walk.

Nothing's ours she said,

Everything's borrowed,

Time, 

Our children.

Try to love what's good,

That's all.

I don't know where my mother got her ideas.

Films I think

These things stick,

Like 

I'll always be with you.

I find myself believing 

In these borrowed things

These days

More and more.