Otrok je gradil velik del svojega bitja.

                                               Čas je poljubil z mislijo,

                                               dotiki, okusi in prisluhi,

                                               z mojstrovinami rojstva

                                               pred rojstvom.

                                               Ko je izgubil palec,

                                               ko so mu pogoltnili odejico,

                                               se je zarastel v njene stene,

                                               gluh in srečen.

                                                                                 Sama sem jo gradila tako dolgo,

                                                                                 kot je visok zelenjavni vrt.

                                                                                 Skozi vetrove sem jo nizala,

                                                                                 podarila vratu člene

                                                                                 in se vselila vanjo,

                                                                                 dobra in prevzeta.

                                                                                 Moja stiska ne diha

                                                                                 na mestu, kjer živijo hiše.

                                   Otrok v meni in tebi jo hrani

                                   z dnevom in nočjo.

                                   Ne vidi, kje se konča čokolada,

                                   zakaj palčki jokajo,

                                   kako raste mama

                                   in kje se začenja gib,

                                   ki bo porušil

                                   najino celino.

                                   Otrok ve.

Vesna Šare