The  daytime  calls for me to be courageous and strong,  
to  face adversity  and  happiness with equal passion.  
I create  my  surroundings and either become satisfied 
with my accomplishments  or disappointed in my lack of effort.  
I spend my days  slamming the door on a past that wants 
to rule me and welcoming my future with the  wonder of a child.  
My days belong to me, whatever I am and whatever I am to 
become.  
But when night has fallen and I retire to the heavenly 
softness and safety of my bed, I realize the night doesn't 
belong to me. Instead, my heart reaches out to time long 
past to a father that loved me to sleep with the tenderness 
of a song gliding from his lips to my ears with the most 
delightful voice any child could hear.  As I drift to sleep 
I hear the gift he gave to me then, a song not only for my 
ears, but for my heart, where it is kept and listened to. 
And through the far reaches of the darkened night comes 
my mothers softness, her arms, her hands, and her touch.  
Always there when I needed them most.  And  there when I 
thought I didn't, but  always there, crowned only by the 
vision of her loving face.  Oh how grateful I am to have 
felt such love, and how thankful I am to realize it now. 
So as I drift to sleep, I know that I belong to kinder 
times, times that cradle me through to the next morning, 
where their lessons are put to practice on another 
unchartered day. A day I face with no fear, as I use 
their love for my compass. That is why I'll always know.  
The night belongs to them, my father and mother.

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