A precious Gift
Wrought by the tenderest of Hands:
Eyes that behold love in every face,
Too pure and ignorant of evil.
Little hands stretched out for airlifts;
Childish whirls, eruptions of laughter.
Feet that patter in delight
Unable to flee from brutes.
A precious Gift
Handled by the coarsest of hands:
Ruddy cheeks smothered with slaps, not kisses.
Frizzled hair matted with cruel blows, not caressed with a comb.
Crushing bear-hugs by spineless wrestlers.
Cherubic face powdered with chocolate disguise bruises
Ever-present lacerations blamed on the quirk of Nature.
A precious Gift
Treated as a burden:
Scores of injuries
Blind carers
A blood-splattered cot.
At last,
Eternal rest.
Oh my! Such sadness! Makes one ask, Why God? I don't know what else to say but sorry for such a loss of innocence. God Bless, Linda
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
made me cry...........