Little Chairs
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Four little empty chairs
Four pairs of little hands
Around our table
In my imagination
Little daughters and sons
That could not quite come
In their failed gestation
Eight exotic eyes in pairs
Never to be woman or man
Shining bright like in fables
Hold their father's rapture
As if they'd been born
And not instead torn
By man or nature's fracture
Tragedies we share
Our young family plan
Was made so unstable
We held onto each other
We never lost heart
We did not fall apart
In our arms we were covered
Our other babies were spared
And were held in my hand
Those four little ones able
But someday I will see
Eight curly tow heads
When my children are led
And embraced in eternity
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