Radiant with exhaustion
but never staggering
off the second flight
of that long, blessed night,

hugging to fitful sleep
a dark-eyed little boy
(safely cocooned
in the jump suit you clothed
him in against the cold he
never suffered
where he was born),

here you are, at last: Mother
and Son, your love that never stops
growing, deepening
already begun.

You couldn’t wait for me
to hold him high - face
to face, eyes to eyes - a baby
in a photograph
no longer.
	       
Nicolas, my son,
long since grown to Nick,
it was then that I knew – and after
all our years together,
it still holds true:

I was the lucky one.