Once in time, a mission girl and I met on the streets of Aix.
We couldn’t dance. We couldn’t touch, or talk as anyone expects.
But even a philosopher like me saw heaven in her eyes.
So, eventually, I asked. We married fast. It wasn’t wise.

When I hold her hand and wonder, I don’t have to look too far.
However we began, whether word divine or dust of star,
Whatever we become, whether dust again or mind sublime,
All eternity can be for me with Dorothée in time.

Time again, a mother held her growing womb with tender hands,
The same that pulled me close as people buried Dad in timeless sands.
Like gravity that tethered me above the gazing dark abyss,
Our boys and she were solid ground, a world of purpose in each kiss.

When I hold her hand and wonder, I don’t have to look too far.
However we began, whether word divine or dust of star,
Whatever we become, whether dust again or mind sublime,
All eternity can be for me with Dorothée in time.

Boys to men, she nurtured them. We taught them. Each became our friend.
They stood with me, we prayed with her, as Mamie’s time came to an end.
But stronger than the mountains that she climbed until her tears were gone,
She rose beyond the shadow, just a prelude to a brighter dawn.

When I hold her hand and wonder, I don’t have to look too far.
However we began, whether word divine or dust of star,
Whatever we become, whether dust again or mind sublime,
All eternity can be for me with Dorothée in time.

When I hold her hand and wonder, I don’t have to look too far.
However we began, whether word divine or dust of star,
Whatever we become, whether dust again or mind sublime,
All eternity can be for me with Dorothée in time.

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