Postcard

This verse was important to a freind of mine so I took it as my own, though she married somone else.
We were both adopted in infancy. So she thought of her parents wishing this. I think of my own son.

Childe Harold's Lament

My daughter! with thy name this song begun!
My daughter with my name this much shall end-
I see the not-I hear the not-but none can be so wrapt in thee: Thou art the freind
To whom the shadows off far years extend
Albeit my brow thou never shouldst behold
My voice shall with thy future visions blend
And reach into thy heart-when mine is cold-
A token and a tone, even from thy fathers mold

The child of love! though born in bitterness
And nurtured in convulsion! Of thy sire these were the elements-and thine no less
As yet such are around thee, but thy fire
shall be more tempered and thy hope far higher
Sweet be thy slumbers o'er the sea
and from the moutntains where I now respire
Fain would I waft such blessings upon thee
As with a sigh I deem though might have been to me.
...

- Byron