Where once a granite turret towered,
There's just a vague, dissolving guide.
Instead of kisses from my bride
Infrequent children are empowered
To scrape away the creeping weeds,
But not so well they might reveal
The aching wounds time could not heal.
O children, thank whoever feeds
Your need for love or satisfies
Your morning fears with gentle care.
Look far into their friendly eyes:
Drink deeply on what's living there.
Remember, as you deftly scrape:
From love, there will be no escape.