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The Infant Coming out of the wildest wind Clearly Nabraska would be a child The sun shone, disappeared, than landed on our ground All on the day you were born, this earth was shattered more servervily, than anything it had ever seen In shadow or sorrow, in steel and strength, you became my intelligance, you became my test Every day I sat you down in the middle of a yard, that was a medow, and asked you in the evening, to be the sweet dream of your mother This was not a dumb mistake within a dream, you were done on purpose With work, with war without metaphor, you, were the grinding through hell for absolution Your quietness and strength as an infant, told me that how far I was away from Domestic life, I would stay, like a chiefton knowing his tribe, would be lost, for you, I would stay There is no glory at the end of a tongue, and I know I talk to much But I wrapped you with what wisdom I had, and never has there been a single instant of sadness, while I guess the hardest part for both of us, is that I love you still