It was the first gift he ever gave him,

Slipping past the men and women

of ancient streets in dimmed light.

Silver hues tinted the falling rain.

 

They crept through the halls,

Needn't let anyone know their secret.

Bands of gold laced the sky,

As he waited, weary-eyed.

 

It was times like these he knew the world,

Waiting for the stars on roofs and bush.

He couldn't see the love,

Seeping through the door.

 

It was the first gift he ever gave him

And the last one too.

It was a gift unlike any other,

Like lilies on soft parchment.

 

These are sweet lilacs,

Applied in the dark of the stifling heat

of the society yet to be known. It is

the spawn of the boy it came from,

 

Clear. Patient. Calm. Loving.

Soft lilacs come to rest on burgeoning daffoldils,

As the rain comes a seeps the world,

In tantalizing knowledge.