Taken

Image borrowed from Bing.

Taken

For years, he's locked his prayers inside, so tight,
When visiting that plain and sacred place.
He shuts his eyes in vain hope that he might
Detect her infant breath upon his face.
Across the bridge of heartbreak, he'll recall
Her saintly seizing hands, untroubled sighs.
Born from flying sparks in the early Fall,
With songs of generations in her cries.
When fever came, he could not wail or weep,
Quietly curse as darkness held the day,
Nor pray to God, her little soul to keep.
She was the third he'd buried in this way.
Beneath the crushing weight of unshed tears,
He comes to pay respects, as his time nears.

Martin T. Hodges

Posted over on his site Square Sunshine
Listed as #65 over on Magpie Tales 38