Not the feather of a newborn chick
Not the foam of a warm ocean's sweat
Nor the melting ice cream of a summer party
The tiny wisp of your baby's first breath
Upon your trembling lips
Nor the consoling touch of your mother's finger
To wipe the tears of your very first childhood fear
No, no, not to experience the utopia of "soft" shall come
Until the tender hands of GOD Almighty slides fingers
Of love slowly down your quivering cheeks and kisses
Your forehead, then breathes "I love you" shall you know
The true dimension of "soft".
And I pray here and now,
That for you.... one day it shall be!