Before they called him Killer,
before the world knew Weybo,
he was simply her little boy.
Her firstborn.
Her beginning.
A thousand prayers she had yet to pray.
And there sat Nina,
young enough to believe
she could hold him forever.
The years would have other plans.
But somewhere beyond the reach of time,
in a flowered chair,
a mother still holds her son.
And nothing has changed.
Boutwell Jones
redclaygospel.com
