The Little Angel

I float in the breeze like a kite in the wind,

I stare at you cry with respects you send.

You kneel to my tomb,

my name forever engraved,

you clutch your womb,

wishing it was me you saved.

Your husband comes and pats your back,

you rear in disgust and his face you slap.

You blame him for my passing,

you wish he would grieve,

for it was his fault that you lost me.

He walks away angry and alone you sit,

staring and crying at my endless pit.

I descend down to you and whisper in your ear,

“Mama, don’t cry I am always here”

 

 

 

 

 

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