Child of mist and swirls of fog, allow me but one moment to cradle you in my weightless arms— now dense with love; tarry, my child, for now I see vast fields of daisies kissed by passing bees and feel a breeze traverse my cheek and smell the Earth’s new life among new soil imbibing itself with Sky’s falling gifts— I knew not the grace of this scene until I blazed its trails myself, and I wish now only to stay among this field; but here there is no room, no board, and no cradl