As I searched through the pages, I came across a poem. “Moonlight North and South – Robert Fuller Murray,” the little note detailed. I blinked and began to read the gently etched lines.
Love, we have heard together
The North Sea sing his tune,
And felt the wind's wild feather
Brush past our cheeks at noon,
And seen the cloudy weather
Made wondrous with the moon.
I stopped breathing. My eyes stung, and I sniffed. There was no way in the world this could have been written for me, but in a way, I felt like my mother had known I’d have this grimoire one day. A knot rose in my throat, and I swallowed hard, wiping at my face as I tried to will away the sadness welling up in my chest.
I wish I could have met you, I thought wistfully. What a bizarre thing to realize I had a birth mother on
