Where would I be if not with you

Where would I be if not with you

In your tiny hand among the Irish yew

For I was not me, but a wandering daze

Away from me, superficial In gaze

What spirits came and joined me through birth

The delicate mind surrendering to earth

Wake wake my Ancestors cry

Slipping and falling and there I lie

The demanding touch of the tiny hand

Changing the picture returning to land

For if not for the dark that I will not rue

I would not rise , Hand in hand, Irish yew

Claire McClorey