Lift your head, my child. 
You weigh down your neck,
Small head filled with sorrow
Like a planet on a twig.

I know now why you insist 
Your gaze meets cold concrete,
For one day a tulip called your name.
It’s beautiful color
Of gorgeous glowing blush,
Grabbing your sight and holding it tight.

When this tulip spoke to you,
The only tulip to reach out from the field,
It said “I love you”.

Now the perfect petals
Of pale pink are no longer present
To pull you in, or wrap passionately 
Around your neck, and so,
With no pink to meet your eyes,
You train them to memorize the floor. 

But my child, one day soon
A hole may smash into
The toe of shoes, you know 
Like the back of your hand,
If you continue to kick pebbles.

And more so, I fear that,
One day soon, you will know not
Of how bright the sun shines,
Or how clear the blue around it. 

My child, lift your head,
For the drops like cascades
On your cold cheeks will too
Be met with a warm breeze
That, with empathy, will gently
Guide your gritted teeth apart. 

And my child, through a bubbly
And cloudy glass lens,
Your gaze, peering across
A field of tulips, could one day soon
Be met with a rose.