Story by Deb
I don’t know why this became the song I sang to you, my daughters. It was an old song even then. Maybe the lyrics were why it found its way into that special stage of my life, and hearing this song now takes me nowhere else but back to that time.
You won’t remember it at all, my girls. You were too small.
Each of you, one by one—you were my baby cradled in my arms, new and untroubled in the world; ready for sleep. And I, enveloped in a protective warmth—born of you—lightly stroked your forehead, tracing the feathers of your eyebrows; and quietly sang for only you. You won’t remember the lullaby, but I hope somehow a memory of these moments is a rhythm still playing somewhere inside you.
Artwork by Karin
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