Spring Buds

Bismillah hir Rahman nir Raheem

flesh softens
eyes slowly blink
lungs attempt to gasp

ilm chips away
at layers of rust
which encrust a vessel of light

lessons once learned
return
like dreams in a fog of sleep

the little girl,
now younger than before,
looks up at her father
and reaches for the hand
that never left her side

she clutches on--
his hand in one hand,
a book in the other,
and a heart full of hope