A Poem on the Fourth of May

The voice I heard was yours,

Speaking to me while doing chores—

Or when in the office—

The warm caress, telling me this:

That I’d be a fine child, and

That you’ll wrap me without end

In your warm embrace: unlimited

Love and care. You assure me.

The voice I heard was yours.

The first to rejoice, of course,

As I had my first fumbling

Steps. And when I was uttering

My first incomprehensive word.

You excitedly showed me the world.

You said “Well done” when

I received my first star from school.

The voice I heard was yours,

When from my young eyes water pours.

You tell me to rise and walk again.

From the sidelines you say, “No pain, no gain.”

You let me rise on my own, to deal

With my first wounds and to heal.

You let me learn the lesson of life,

Something I could not find in books.

The voice I heard was yours

When it was time to select the course,

The path I would take. At the forks

You showed your wisdom, and though lurks

Danger, you reminded me of Ithaca and the journey

I must take. Of Cyclopes, you said to me:

“You will not meet them, I am sure.

Unless you would call them out.”

Now these words you read are mine,

Written as the Muse visits my mind.

From my first steps and words

To my exploration of my world, and other worlds—

“Thanks” is but a cliché, a word used too much,

I try in vain to search for another. As such,

Please know I am grateful you are here,

For your love and care. I end with cheer.