The teddy bear
sits out the storm
completely sodden
leaves run before
the thunder
leaping over
his outstretched arms
like frightened animals
he comforts a leaf
in his hand
it tames to his touch
angels descend
here & there
turned to stone
by their grief
they guard
the graves
from the wrath
of the storm
howling like
a jealous God
a headless
angel
its head
at its feet
continues
to pray
despite its mortal
injury
the teddy
tied to the wreath
gazes at the child
held still in marble
reads again
& again
'JEAN
3 YEARS
DEARLY BELOVED
DAUGHTER.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The graves of children, so sad, so scarey, so awful......................... There are some where my parents are buried with teddies and toys around them. Ruthie