You are my guide, from the womb to the soil in which

my cremated remains will hug and embrace with the same deep thought

as when I was a child in which you were my teacher,

when I was the teenage boy in whose arms I wanted to hold you with

and kiss you gently,

to the middle aged man in which I have become

and in which you are the one I strive

to be equal to, you are my guide.

From the grandmother with unseen feminist principals,