Pain Poem

This child that more than other children needs to know,
this fragile, this intense,
this different from my daughter, almost fierce
that moves me so to cry,
his tears, his laughter.

How could we put it back, his crab together,
not having kings and horses?
How to say:
a flower, all its pages like a book
too often read and stepped on?

Who his mother finds need to measure
he is so small, his need so great, enormous
and how he knows
by asking muddy puddles, sun and sky,
takes pleasure in reflections after rain.