Warm, holding my worried hands, when I looked for the missing duckling, knowing the young fox who always sneaked into the garden using the old dry stony brook, would not be hungry tonight.
Tender, when I escaped their kind touch on my bruised forehead, in that dark snowy day!
Sharp, when you hold your HB pencil, editing page after page, putting little arrows here and there, making it short, clear and smooth, the way you want all writings to be,
Strong in holding us all close, as if me being two oceans away is no bother,
Another May Day far from your hands,
And my days are so cold when missing your magical touch!
*Happy May Day to you all, & Happy Anniversary to my parents!