Fly Home, Little Angel
“Come fluttering words, come drifting to me...” A Rambling Poet
A gentle breeze brings me the soft smell
So familiar it calms my tear-filled eyes instantaneously.
I venture closer to the source.
Two ebony, round vases resting atop a sill.
The scent of the roses and carnations flit about me,
As they did about her so little ago.
Yet we have laid her softly
After she was slain
Into the moist, soft soil from which her scent derived.
Always like a butterfly did flora float about her.
So small, and pale, with mahogany hair
When we found her lay flared about her delicate head
Like the halo our Father gifted her.
For it came about in such a gentle flow
And jade eyes, calm as the sea
In which we found her
They sparkled like the sun dancing off the waves.
Her eyes were open, and matched the swirling surf.
The tears flow silver from my own emerald orbs
I peer into mucky puddles lying about
And see her face in my own.
I bore her from my womb
Yet our Lord has called her home
To save her from the world's cruelty
An Angel to watch this land
I stopped to smell the flowers
Not rushing bust taking life in time
The wind blew by my ear
And I heard the whisper of a little Angel
“I love you, Mommy”
Erika Raiken
Contest: What is she thinking... - Constance La France ~A Rambling Poet~
7.27.2011
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