The Warrior’s Child

There’ll be time for dying when we’re dead.
Time for bathing in our sorrow.
Time for pity when the sun’s done down.
Time for grief tomorrow.

There’ll be time for fighting when we’re older.
Time for hate without restraint.
Time for killing if it’s needed.
Time for hell’s foul brush to paint.

But for now, I hold you in the morning.
For now, I gaze upon your face.
For now, your cries bring joy upon me.
For now, I bathe within your grace.

There’ll be time for dying when we’re dead.
Time for all our worlds to end.
But child, oh child, I beg you,
This time, dear God, extend.

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