I found this again when I was looking through my desk for something else. A friend had given it to me a while ago. I loved it then and today when I re-read it, it made me cry. Again. Because it's just so as it is.

Your children cut their hands on glass
by reaching through the mirror
where the beloved one was hiding.

You weren’t expecting this:
you thought they wanted happiness,
not laceration.

You thought the happiness
would appear simply, without effort
or any kind of work,

like a bird call
or a pathside flower
or a school of silvery fish

but now they’ve cut themselves
on love, and cry in secret,
and your own hands go numb

because there’s nothing you can do,
because you didn’t tell them not to
because you didn’t think

you needed to
and now there’s all this broken glass
and your children stand red-handed

still clutching at moons and echoes
and emptiness and shadow,
the way you did.

-Margaret Atwood, Your Children Cut Their Hands … 
Thank you allpoetryaside and One Day, One Room what a beautiful tumblr blog this is - great music and the rest...