Poetry

She was born of the new spring chill


Energized, new life tide;


My very dream personified.





I cried.





She nursed on wobbly legs,


And loved to play at mommy’s side,


And then, in pain, she died.





My dream personified, denied;


Her lost soul, most decried.


To purge my grief, and until red eyed,





I cried. I cried. I cried.