Let my mind be the steel to the flint of your thoughts;

When you run yourself into the ground,

Let me be the soft grass that you fall on.

Make me the brush that blends black and white

Into a spectrum of gentler grays,

If you’ll be the clear line that marks out the way in the fog.

If you are the spring rain that soaks the ground,

Unfurling a shoot from the seed of my spirit,

Tell me I’m doing the same for you.

Let me run by your side, matching steps in the race;

Let me be your shield-bearer if you’ll hold the sword.

Make me yours.