A pretty girl in pleated dress of red,
with collar laced in white beneath her throat
and matching bow upon her small blonde head,
is glancing round the chapel. I take note.
Though nails on little hands show grown-up paint,
she emanates no guile. She’s unaware
That in this world are some who wish to taint
all innocence; for no one do they care!
She nuzzles her dad’s face as on his knee
she’s sitting now - his sweet beloved daughter.
What menace lurks, from which she could not flee?
What evil lessons might one day be taught her?
She hugs her daddy’s chest; I watch and pray
she’ll live to hold a child her own one day.
In Memory of the 20 + 7 new angles of heaven~ "our own little poetry soup VIGIL"