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    Posted November 27, 2011 by
    Kings Park, New York
    This iReport is part of an assignment:
    Cultural census: Your self-portrait

    The Blink of Me


    In a world of tweets and twits, and likes and digs, will my young daughters learn to say I love you? Will they hear it?


    Will they come to know the eloquence of resonance of voice? Or the subtleties of a purposeful glance?


    Will the inflection of inquiry pass them by? Will they miss a sentiment, carefully crafted to be much more than meets the eye.


    And what's to occur when they rise on the morn' and they forget to thank the sun?


    I will kiss them each day, and hug them to slumber, and sing them the songs I have seen.


    I will look to their eyes,
    and search for the twinkle
    of stars birthed,
    a thousand ago.


    A thousand of this,
    and a thousand of that,
    for babies kissed all the way through.


    From bandaged ol' knees,
    and tears of a living,
    it takes to finally become you .


    For mothers are quiet,
    but boom just the same,
    carefully crafting a tune,


    That makes for a giving,
    thats subtle and sweet,
    and never gives up when they're through.


    So it is with the eyes where we see the truth, of more than a young mind might fathom. The eyes that see the chances for a life just starting. So it is with great care, that mothers mother. And fathers, too - father. Because it is these eyes their children will search, for what is true and worth in a world - big and bold.


    Am I more than my eyes? Are you? What have they seen of your years busy living? What have they held? And gave up? What do they behold, these eyes of yours? And what have they cherished?


    It is the eyes of a baby the mother searches for. The eyes of wonder. The eyes she is seeking.

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