Then the third day, as we were packing up,
finishing our work, completing our tasks,
We scoured the horizon for you.
You finally appeared again.
Your cough a little less severe,
Your head a little less bowed, your smile regaining its brightness.
your little hand just waved and waved at us, until you disappeared from view,
as we pulled out of the station,
You dear, little, frail, blond W-V-a boy,
who stole a piece of heart, from every one of us.
Then I walked through my front door, and my own little grandson,
bounded up to me and hugged me tightly, with brace straighten dazzling white teeth, and several pairs of new shoes;
A closet full of clothes some with tags;
overrunning school supplies, and a regular Pediatrician,
And more love than he knows.
However, there is a piece of my aching heart,
and thoughts, and prayers, and wishes for strength,
That’ll forever reside, with the frail little blond headed boy,
from W-V-a, the Third World/ America