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A short poem about the short life of a child. |
| I was a fertile garden When wind brought forth a seed. My god shipped me an angel, Upon me he would feed. I was a feeble panic. He was a dying breed. My debts rang to the heavens Then blessing morphed to weed. I was a frigid winter And shelter was my creed. Stupor kissed my fingertips. Sweet numbness was my steed. I was a lifeless widow. The angels could not plead. Freedom slept beside me then So I began to bleed. I was a hollow chorus. His roots had all been freed! Now rainfall has no lover. Goodnight my darling seed. |