**********
Oh, my love so sweet and true,
Your smile, your giggle, shine right through.
Mother loves you best, my dear,
Don't forget—I'm always here.
When you feel like crying, don't you fear,
Come to Mama, nestle near.
Weep in my arms, it's safe and warm,
I'll hold you tight from any storm.
I love you always, my baby boy,
Hug me close will you, with all your joy.
Goodnight, goodnight, sleep so sound,
Mama's love will,Always wrap you.. around "
"Mama's love will... always wrap you around," sang a young boy perched on a weathered rock at the edge of a seaside cliff. He twirled a delicate wildflower between his fingers, its petals catching the salty breeze like whispers from the waves below.
Sniffling softly, the boy lifted his gaze to the endless sky, a bright smile breaking through his tears. Memories flooded him—his mother's gentle lullaby, woven with notes as soft as sea foam, and his father's strong, protective hugs that once shielded him from the world's sharp edges. Those echoes lingered, warm against the chill of the ocean air.
Soon after, he slipped down from his perch and walked ashore toward the mainland once more, his bare feet sinking into the cool sand.
The path wound through a lush expanse of greenery—towering lilies and tangled weeds that brushed against his chest like curious fingers. He pressed onward, his smile radiant, undimmed by the journey's quiet demands. Butterflies danced in the air, and the distant call of gulls followed him like old friends.
The sun hung low, setting the horizon ablaze in fiery oranges and crimsons that blazed. Heat crept over the land like a thief in the haze, as the wind turned away, leaving the boy in its maze. He clenched his teeth, sweat tracing his face, biting his cheek through the mounting chase, until he crested the peak's rugged grace.
There, in a field where the wildflowers swayed, stood a small house amid dandelions displayed. Lilies whispered low, sunflowers stood proud and tall, their faces turned to the sun's fading call, weaving a haven through petal and pall.
The sea breeze whispered but brought no cool grace, so he dashed toward the shade in hot pursuit's race. A figure appeared in the doorway's dim space, fading like mist in the golden sun's trace.
He called out with joy, his voice bright and clear, but met only a yell, sharp with cold sneer. Unfazed by the shout, the boy held his ground near: "Your name is Son, I am Greed—let's draw near. Meet in the middle, if deep we should veer."
***