How Rare Is The Child Poem by chris schwartz

Oh, how rare, is the child
That sees the fleeting sun
Fall from the sky
During hours
Still full of life!
For it is much too often
We see
Our children
Gripping the hand
Of their mother,
Eyes half-closed,
Reaching for the light
Beyond,
And wondering,
With her last shallow breath,
If her work has been enough.
Oh, how rare, is the child
That ponders
Love while life exists
And recognizes the short span of a rose
Before its beauty fades.
It is in this child,
That the fragrance is stored
And kept,
Safely tucked away
To grow long after,
And to rise each day
Like the brilliant sun
Waiting to shine unto all.