Take Care Of Him My Lord
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I hold my little new born child
who is born in a hospital
in a town where tumbleweeds roll mild
the Cancer has been staged, its terminal
incurable and running wild
every hair on his head is counted
every toe accounted for
I think about all the strength surmounted
for this jewel in my pinafore
and hear his loud sharp cry, undaunted;
rage of angels rap at my chest door
as I fade away into his heart beat,
the lion comes for his feeding chore;
Oh those eyes of finest wheat,
how they draw me in aside the shore
and move me to a place of Grace.
The curtain closes and I weep
inside my ventricle, his memorized face
I pray to God my soul to keep,
then glide away, to another place.
September 6, 2021
Sponsor: Emile Pinet
Contest Name Quintain (Sicilian)
Copyright © Mystic Rose Rose | Year Posted 2021
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